April 7, 2026 by corriegus

Woman, Here Is Your Son

At the Cross her station keeping,
stood the mournful Mother weeping,
close to her Son to the last.

Through her heart, His sorrow sharing,
all His bitter anguish bearing,
now at length the sword has passed.

O how sad and sore distressed
was that Mother, highly blest,
of the sole-begotten One.

Christ above in torment hangs,
she beneath beholds the pangs
of her dying glorious Son.

Is there one who would not weep,
whelmed in miseries so deep,
Christ’s dear Mother to behold?

Can the human heart refrain
from partaking in her pain,
in that Mother’s pain untold?

Bruis’d, derided, curs’d, defil’d,
She beheld her tender Child
All with bloody scourges rent;¹

That is a portion of a Christian hymn from the 13th century. The Latin title is “Stabat Mater” which translates to “Sorrowful Mother.” The hymn is a reflection on Mary’s pain as she witnessed the crucifixion. Though its authorship is unknown, Sorrowful Mother grew in popularity until it was sung throughout Christendom. It has been passed down through the generations. The song hauntingly captures Mary’s broken heart.

The apostle John recounted these terrible moments in his gospel. I want you to picture what John describes: Jesus is hanging on the cross, already brutalized with whip, spear, and thorns. Below him, four Roman soldiers divide his clothing among themselves. As Jesus bleeds they haggle over the remaining piece‒his undergarment. All the while, Mary stands close by, watching.

How terrible the pain of a mother—to witness the humiliation, torture, and execution of her child. How did Mary endure seeing the cruelty inflicted on Jesus? How did she stay through the hours it took for her son to die?

Can you imagine a pain equal to what Mary experienced in those moments? It’s hard to. It is a comfort when we realize that the only thing that rivaled Mary’s pain was her love. Mary’s love for her son was so great, I believe it surpassed her pain. Her love was her staying-power; it kept her at the foot of that bloody cross. Oh, what wondrous love!

Grieving people understand that great pain is often rooted in great love. We see this truth clearly on display in Mary. But we also see it in Jesus. John 19:26-27 say, “When Jesus saw his mother there, and the disciple whom he loved standing nearby, he said to her, ‘Woman, here is your son,’ and to the disciple [he said], ‘Here is your mother.’”

It’s not hard to imagine Jesus’ pain at the crucifixion. There’s the physical pain caused by Roman brutality. The emotional pain of being rejected by his fellow Jews and betrayed by his disciple Judas. The pain of being abandoned by most of his male disciples. And the greatest burden of all, the pain of submitting to torture and death to atone for the sins of the world.

But have we noticed the pain of Jesus as a son? In these moments, he was a son stripped naked and nailed to a cross in front of his mother. As he was tortured and taunted and mocked, his mother watched, and he saw her distress. Despite his own terrible pain, Jesus saw his mother’s pain and was overcome with love.

God’s law, the Torah, gave clear instructions about caring for the most vulnerable in society, including widows. In accordance with the law, Jesus would have stood in Joseph’s stead to care and provide for his mother once she’d become a widow. But what would happen to Mary after Jesus died? Who would care for her?

Jesus knew the heart of his heavenly Father, described in the Psalm 68:5 as the “father of orphans and protector of widows.” A clear example of God’s care for the vulnerable is in the Torah gleaning laws. This set of laws instructs God’s people to purposefully leave the edges of their fields unharvested, and to leave some fruit on their grapevines and olive trees. What remained would provide for the poor, for orphans, foreigners, and widows.²

This law is pivotal to the story of Ruth. We remember that Naomi and her daughter-in-law Ruth were vulnerable widows. There were no remaining male family members to provide for them. So Ruth gleaned wheat and barley from the fields of a man named Boaz. This led to a marriage between Ruth and Boaz, who are ancestors of Jesus.

With this in mind, turn back to the scene of the crucifixion. Knowing his death was imminent, despite the pain engulfing him, Jesus used some of his last words to honor both the law and the heart of the heavenly Father. He protected and provided for his mother when he said, “Woman, here is your son.”

I want you to picture Mary and John standing below the cross. Imagine, at Jesus’ words, John places an arm around Mary’s shoulders. Hold that image in your mind and hear the echo of words spoken just days earlier:

“I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener…
Remain in me, as I remain in you.

No branch can bear fruit by itself; it must remain in the vine.
Neither can you bear fruit unless you remain in me.

I am the vine; you are the branches…

As the Father has loved me, so have I loved you.

My command is this: Love each other as I have loved you.
Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.”³

Mary and John are standing at Golgotha, which was known as, “the place of the skull.” It’s where Rome executed criminals, a place that probably sent shivers up the spines of passersby. You could hardly bear to look for long.

But I want you to look at Golgotha on that fateful day and gaze fully at the scene. Look beyond the skulls, beyond the executioners—even, for a moment, beyond the cross. Open the eyes of your heart and see this place transformed. “Woman, here is your son…[John] here is your mother.” At these words, Golgotha becomes a garden. The Father is the gardener. Jesus is the true vine of the garden. John, is a fruitful branch. Mary, now entwined with John, reaps a harvest.

Jesus’ words on the cross were an act of love and justice: by declaring John and Mary family, Mary gleaned a secure future. John wrote in verse 27, “from then on this disciple took her into his home.”

Think of the gift Jesus gave to both Mary and John: Together, they could bear the pain of Jesus’ death. Together, they would rejoice at his resurrection. Together, they would bear much fruit for the Lord as they spread the gospel. Together, they would live as Jesus had commanded: “Love each other as I have loved you.”

It’s easy to become transfixed by the pain at Golgotha. For centuries, songs and poems like Sorrowful Mother have reflected on this pain. I don’t want to ignore or minimize the pain at the cross, because through the pain we see the love. But, I also don’t want the pain to blind us to the beauty on display at Golgotha. In the place designated for torture, pain, and death, there was love overflowing, justice reaped, and futures secured—not just for Mary and John—but for all of us.

In the darkest moments of human history, if you listen closely, you might hear the echo of a song. It’s a simple melody of hope written long ago by King David: “Weeping may last for a night, but joy comes in the morning.”⁴

Joy is coming for Mary and John.
Joy is coming for you and me and all people who call Jesus, Lord.

So, weep for the pain.
Wonder at the love.
And hope in the promised joy.

Amen.

Stabat Mater, verses 1-7 (of 20). English translation by Edward Caswall, 1849. ↩︎
See Leviticus 19:9-10, 23:22; Deuteronomy 24:19-22. ↩︎
John 15:1, 4-5, 9, 12 NIV ↩︎
Psalm 30:5b ↩︎

December 11, 2023 by corriegus

His Name Will Be ‘Mighty God’

For a child has been born for us,
    a son given to us;
authority rests upon his shoulders,
    and he is named
Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,
    Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. (Isaiah 9:6 NRSV)

I’d just had lunch with my friend Andrea and we left the burrito shop and walked together toward our cars in the parking lot. In the middle of a parking aisle was a woman in distress. Her SUV had stalled out and was blocking traffic. Alone, she was unable to steer it into a nearby parking spot. Andrea and I told her we would help. The woman hopped into the driver’s seat, put her SUV in neutral, and Andrea and I took out places at the back bumper. When she yelled, “ready!” we leaned down, put our hands on the back of the SUV, and pushed. It took quite a bit of strain and force and umph to get the car moving, but once the wheels started rolling, the SUV easily glided into the stall.

As I wiped off my dirty hands, Andrea looked at me with eyebrows raised and said, “Wow, Corrie. You are strong!” Her tone was laced with surprise. She hadn’t expected me to be much help pushing the car. I got her logic. Then, like now, I was overweight. My body was round and cushiony, or Rubenesque if you know that art history reference. I had no visible muscle definition. I took walks for exercise. Whereas Andrea was slim and trim. At the time she worked for one of Silicon Valley’s tech giants, so she had access to a free personal trainer, a lap pool, a weight room, and on-site exercise classes which she religiously utilized. I can see why Andrea wouldn’t expect much from me.

The thing is, the size and shape of something doesn’t determine its strength or its impact. Tiny ants can carry away picnic scraps twenty-times their weight; that is the equivalent of a human carrying 4,000 pounds on their back.¹ Babies can grip and suck so hard that adults will struggle to retrieve toys and pacifiers from them. And overweight people can push SUVs. Strength can come in a surprising package.

On this second Sunday of Advent, we are reflecting on the prophesied Messiah as the “mighty” God from Isaiah 9:6. This adjective in Hebrew (gibor) is commonly translated mighty, but strong is an equally fine translation. Might often refers to strength, power, and the ability to make impact and have influence. Metaphorically, it was also used in the Old Testament to deem a soldier valiant or a hero.

The Messiah as mighty God? On one hand, this seems a no-brainer. Our most fundamental understanding of God is as the Creator of the world–of all that we can see, of the ground we walk on, of the planet we call home, and of what we call “outer space.” In the past month I’ve read two articles about the discovery of new species. First, off the coast of Japan scientists discovered a jellyfish with a unique red cross on it’s bell–that round part on top.² Then there was a sea creature related to the starfish found in the waters off Antarctica.³ Scientists are calling the new creature the “Antarctic strawberry feather star.” It has twenty arms, some with a bumpy texture, and others that are feathery. It’s amazing to think that after so many centuries of documentation, we still have so much to discover about creation. Of course God’s anointed one–the much-anticipated, much-needed Messiah–would be mighty if he comes from the creator himself.

And of course, the Israelites would hear Isaiah’s prophecy and then anticipate the coming of a warrior who would save them from their pagan enemies and oppressors. That’s always the scriptural context for the gibor, ‘might.’ It makes sense to look for a Messiah who was not only physically strong, but who also had strength of character–you know, things like clarity of purpose; unshakable resolve; someone with the strategic mind of a general to outwit all other generals; someone almost intimidating in their leadership and righteous fervor for the Lord.

But God’s ways do not always meet our expectations. Strength can come in a surprising package. Might can start in a manger.

We all know the birth story of Jesus. Mary and Joseph came from Nowhereville. Joseph was a tradesman, and likely poor. Mary was very young, abruptly thrust into marriage and parenthood after a shortened betrothal due to her pregnancy. A pregnancy that would have garnered them a lot of social shame. A pregnancy that would end in a village unfamiliar to them, where there were no available guestrooms, and so they’d be forced to take refuge in a barn among the animals. Their baby would be born without immediate fanfare, with few supplies on hand except clean cloths and fresh hay filling the manger where the animal usually took their meals.

Jesus was the foretold Messiah sent by the mighty creator to earth…but as a baby? A warrior born in a barn? A savior who would apprentice under his carpenter father? Where was the promise of greatness? How could this boy, with his unfortunate background, come to much? His prospects were poor in every way, and yet THIS was the Creator’s choice, his perfect plan of salvation.

God could have chosen to have his anointed savior appear suddenly. The All-powerful could have skipped the whole messy birth and the years of growth from a squalling infant, to an active boy, to a gangly adolescent, to a mature man. Honestly, he could have skipped the whole human thing altogether and sent the leader of his heavenly armies to save his people. What legion could defeat the heavenly forces of the Creator?

Instead, God chose to go and be present with his people in their struggles. God sent his divine son to live as his people lived–as a human. Jesus would start where all people start, and grow as all people grow, I believe, to show complete empathy for the world. God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son. Jesus knew what it was to live burdened by taxes, and surrounded by corrupt leaders, and sickness, and struggle, and sin, and death. He also experienced life’s joys and pleasures.

Jesus knew the full value of human life, so he knew exactly what it would take to save the lost, hurting, desperate people God loved. It would take a life. A total, selfless sacrifice. And that is strength. That poor baby born in a manger a long way from home became the mightiest warrior the world would ever know.

April 17, 2014 by corriegus

A Holy Week

On Palm Sunday I preached the good news about God’s unexpected salvation – salvation from sin, salvation for all, and salvation from circumstances. I said this –

If God’s power can conquer sin and death, then he can certainly free us from everything that enslaves us. He can remove every roadblock and work miracles through our limitations. But often God doesn’t intercede the way we expect…

Friends, too often we make ourselves prisoners of hope, looking for salvation from circumstances to come in a particular package or follow a particular pattern. As greatly as God loves you, he wants to set you free! But are you coming to God with clenched fists, holding tightly to your expected outcomes? What if God knows that there is something better, something you need more than what you are asking for?

My last blog post was a raw expulsion of feeling. I compared myself to an unraveling sweater. I had reached a breaking point emotionally, spiritually and physically. I could not think of another month of job searching without crying.

What a difference a week makes.

Within days of writing Unraveling Sweater, good news rolled into my life like a 4^th of July parade. My father, who was laid off a year ago, received a wonderful job offer. Beginning May 1^st he will raise money for a non-profit that serves some of the poorest children in Phoenix. God heard our prayers and came to save.

A few days later I received a job offer of my own. From June thru December I will be serving as a chaplain at the Punahou School in Honolulu, Hawaii. I will lead chapels for students from Kindergarten through 5^th grade and offer pastoral care and counseling to students and their families. Though I love spending time with children and prize my role as aunt as much as I do my role as pastor, I’ve never imagined myself working with kids. Clearly God had other ideas. He heard my cries and he came to save.

After 4 years relentlessly pursuing a full-time job, this new opportunity feels like a Jubilee, a real trumpet-blast of liberation. I will have a new challenge to feed my brain and an island getaway free from job-searching to feed my soul. I’m embracing my own lesson. God has given me unexpected salvation, a gift in an unusual package, but I’m welcoming it with joy and anticipation.

The desert has been a significant metaphor for my inner life and experiences the past four years that I’ve lived in Phoenix. It’s not lost on me that I’m moving from the desert to what many people consider paradise on earth. Most people only dream of places like Hawaii and only a privileged few vacation there. I will soon live and work there. I will leave behind the dry, dusty, marrow-sucking heat of the desert for the lush greens, fragrant blooms and warm breezes of a tropical island. I can’t find adequate words to describe my sense of gratitude to God and the renewal of hope that is happening in my spirit.

And in the middle of all of this good news, pain and loss continue to shade my life. A friend is experiencing the miscarriage of her first baby. Another is newly devastated by infidelity. Two others have said their final goodbyes, one to a mother, the other to a sister. A homebound widow begs for a visit and prayers – her roommate returned to a life of addiction and is now hospitalized after attempting suicide. People I love are hurting and so even as I rejoice, I shout – Hosanna! Save, now! Save, I pray!

This has been a holy week. A week of contrasts inhabiting the same moment. I rejoice in my circumstances even as I weep with others. Hope sprouts with new dreams for my future while circumstances crush the spirit of those around me. Joy mixes with sorrow and makes its own kind of liturgy.

As a Christian, Holy Week is the strangest week we live. We do our best to step into time with Jesus, to participate in the iconic moments of his last days. On Sunday we celebrate his arrival as king. He’s come to do his most sacred work, to redeem God’s people and take the throne. We dazzle and sometimes disturb visitors to our churches with waving palm branches, cute children’s plays and shouts of hosanna. By Friday everything has changed. We have lost our joy. We are full of confusion, pain and fear. We turn down the volume and the lights and soak in the fact that our savior has been betrayed, arrested, tortured, humiliated and nailed to a cross. On Saturday we weep. Some give up and walk away. In all of us there is an inner stillness; we’re waiting for something, but we don’t know what. And then it’s Sunday again and we experience the deepest possible joy as Jesus appears before us alive and victorious!

It’s a week full of contrasts that inhabit the same moment. Light and darkness. Life and death. Waiting, seeking and finding. Unprecedented despair followed by unparalleled rejoicing. Holy Week is the pattern of life, at least for now. And it’s only the knowledge that painful things lead to unexpectedly good things, that keeps me living.

January 1, 2014 by corriegus

A New Year’s Walk

Today we begin another year, 2014. I started my day with a walk in the January sunshine, still reflecting on the Advent and Christmas realities — they have captivated me anew. Things are in bloom here in Arizona, just as there are spaces opening within me, ready to be filled with new life and wonder. The sky is a brilliant blue. The sun is warm. A soft breeze brushes my skin and fills my nose with fragrances of spring. There is too much beauty and bloom here to capture with my amateur photography skills, but every corner seems to have something to proclaim, so I went back for my camera. As I uploaded the images I caught, I read through the Gospel of Luke again and read the story in the vibrant blooming life all around me. Would you take this walk with me?

Do not be afraid, Zechariah; your prayer has been heard.

HEARD

Zechariah’s wife became pregnant and for five months remained in seclusion. “The Lord has done this for me,” she said. “In these days he has shown his favor and taken away my disgrace among the people.”

FAVOR

Greetings you who are highly favored! The Lord is with you…The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you.

OVERSHADOW

Even Elizabeth your relative is going to have a child in her old age, and she who was said to be barren is in her sixth month. For nothing is impossible with God.

POSSIBLE

Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the child you will bear…Blessed is she who has believed that what the Lord has said to her will be accomplished.

BLESSED

His mercy extends to those who fear him from generation to generation. He has filled the hungry with good things…

FILLED

Praise be to the Lord, the God of Israel, because he has come and redeemed his people…to show mercy…to rescue us…to enable us to serve him without fear.

FEARLESS

Because of the tender mercy of our God, by which the rising sun will come to us from heaven to shine on those living in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the path of peace.

SHINE

Sovereign Lord, as you have promised, you now dismiss your servant in peace. For my eyes have seen your salvation, which you have prepared in the sight of all people…This child is destined to cause the falling and rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be spoken against, so that the thoughts of many hearts will be revealed.

RISING

There was also a prophetess Anna…She was very old…eighty-four. She never left the temple but worshiped night and day, fasting and praying. Coming up to Mary and Joseph, she gave thanks to God and spoke about the child to all who were looking forward to the redemption of Jerusalem.

LOOKING FORWARD

And the child grew and became strong; he was filled with wisdom and the grace of God was upon him.

GRACE

May the Lord bless you with the faith to see his story living in and around you each day. Happy New Year!

March 24, 2013 by corriegus

This Battleground: A Holy Week Reflection

On recent Sunday mornings we’ve been singing “Never Once” by Matt Redman. Take a minute to review the lyrics…

Standing on this mountaintop
Looking just how far we’ve come
Knowing that for every step You were with us

Kneeling on this battleground
Seeing just how much You’ve done
Knowing every victory
Was Your power in us

Scars and struggles on the way
But with joy our hearts can say
Yes, our hearts can say

Never once did we ever walk alone
Never once did You leave us on our own
You are faithful, God, You are faithful

Now pause and look back at the two lines that are bold. How many of you could easily make two columns and file your life experiences under either the header “Mountaintop” or “Battleground?” Both are common metaphors we use to speak about our spiritual journey.

The mountaintop is a prevalent faith metaphor for those sublime times in which we acknowledge that life with God is good. A mountaintop vista means we can clearly see what we have climbed over. Here we can fill our lungs to tingling, release clenched fists and to stand tall. The end of an uphill trudge is certainly to be celebrated!

The slowly-fading pain of the battleground is perhaps less euphoric than a mountaintop, but no less significant to our faith. Whether or not they are outwardly visible, many of us bear scars which remind us of earthly wars we wish we could have avoided — abuse, betrayal, deceit, broken relationships, [fill in the blank]. It’s fitting that Redman used the word kneeling with the battleground image. Truly victorious people are often weak-kneed with the knowledge that they were a hairs-breadth from death. Gratitude makes us kneel as we acknowledge that something (or someone) beyond our individual (or our battalion’s) capabilities stood in the infinitesimal gap between our necks and the edge of the sword.

Why do I bring this up? What does this have to do with Holy Week? This week is an opportune time to reflect on these metaphors, perhaps in a new way.

The longer I sit at the feet of Jesus, the more uncomfortable I grow with the dichotomy we draw between the mountaintop and battleground. Too often I’ve heard fellow believers judge the faith of another who is in the midst of a battle.

She’s always saying how hard her life is. Why has it been so long since she’s been happy like me? What is wrong with her? Where is her faith?

It’s as though the mountaintop is the only trustworthy thermometer of a vital spiritual life. But what if we learned to see the mountaintop and the battleground not as contrasting but interchangeable spiritual planes?

What would happen in our spirits if we understood the battleground as the mountaintop?

Jesus has a lot to say about spiritual warfare. As a Holy Week spiritual discipline, I encourage you to read John 15:18-16:33 each day. Listen deeply to Jesus teaching in the days and hours before his arrest. Notice how frankly he speaks to his disciples about the battles ahead. Grief, suffering, shunning, ridicule, hatred, persecution, death – these are the coming realities for his followers. (Just as they were for Jesus himself.) Jesus is not harsh or indelicate; he pulls away the film of naïveté from his disciples’ vision so they could understand that a God-honoring life is lived on the treacherous planes of a spiritual battlefield.

Despite these chilling facts, Jesus is still the good news bearer we met in earlier chapters. He didn’t leave his followers low in depression or despair. Hear both his motivation and encouragement in John 16:33, “I have told you these things so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world!”

This is not a trite response given to trembling followers. “Have overcome” is literally “conquered” or “carried off the victory”. Jesus is using battle imagery! He’s foreshadowing events that will come soon, events that will culminate in the ultimate spiritual battle – the fight for the redemption of humanity and all creation. Where was this battle fought? On a cross – a place of humiliation and torture.

A torture device as a battlefield? Yes.

Suffering and death as a battle strategy? Yes.

And this leads to a victory? Yes!

Through his sacrificial death and his miraculous resurrection, Jesus defeated the power of sin and death. His actions may not have been logical, but they were victorious. This is why we should see our battles as mountaintop experiences – because God can accomplish the greatest victories even when we are at our weakest. Tribulations can be times of praise because victory is owned by the power of God.

Jesus told his followers to rejoice and be glad when they are persecuted (Matthew 5:11-12). It’s a crazy request…unless you understand that the battleground is the mountaintop. We can rejoice despite the battle because Jesus did not leave his disciples defenseless. He armed us with supernatural weaponry –

· Jesus’ continual presence through the Holy Spirit (John 16:7-15)

· Protection by the power of God’s name (17:11)

· Jesus’ joy (17:13)

· God’s word (17:14)

· God’s glory which enables unity (17:22-23)

The first point is the battle cry of the Christian life. God sent the Holy Spirit to be our “Advocate” on the battlefields of life (16:7). The title Advocate is a legal term. It describes one who pleads a case before a judge, acting as an intercessor for the accused. (Forgive the shift in metaphor, but the battlefield and the courtroom do complement each other.)

Our lives will have tribulation.We will often feel like defendants being falsely accused by people we once thought friends. Rather than feel defeated, fearful or inadequate by a spiritual battle, we can see our trouble as a sign of spiritual vitality. Our confidence is in the Holy Spirit, in whom we have the best legal counsel possible. The Spirit defends the truth of our testimony and, like the savviest lawyer, turns the tables on our accusers. Our Advocate has the power to get our charges thrown out, saving us from both sure conviction and the death penalty!

Think about the many spiritual metaphors we use to describe the spiritual life – the battlefield, the storm, desert wanderings, and famine. Each of these experiences is also a mountaintop because we are infused with the presence and almighty power of Holy Spirit. This is the hope we cling to in shadow of the cross.

Head of Christ by Nikolai Ge

Pastor with a Purse

how rich is anyone who cares for the soul

Jesus