Friday of the 3rd Week of Lent
Take words with you, and return to the Lord. Tell him, "Forgive all our sins, And accept that which is good; So we offer bulls as we vowed of our lips. Assyria can't save us. We won't ride on horses; Neither will we say any more to the work of our hands, 'Our gods!' For in you the fatherless finds mercy." "I will heal their waywardness. I will love them freely; For my anger is turned away from them. I will be like the dew to Israel. He will blossom like the lily, And send down his roots like Lebanon. His branches will spread, And his beauty will be like the olive tree, And his fragrance like Lebanon. Men will dwell in his shade. They will revive like the grain, And blossom like the vine. Their fragrance will be like the wine of Lebanon. Ephraim, what have I to do any more with idols? I answer, and will take care of him. I am like a green cypress tree; From me your fruit is found." Who is wise, that he may understand these things? Who is prudent, that he may know them? For the ways of the Lord are right, And the righteous walk in them, But the rebellious stumble in them.
"I removed his shoulder from the burden. His hands were freed from the basket. You called in trouble, and I delivered you. I answered you in the secret place of thunder. I tested you at the waters of Meribah." Selah. "Hear, my people, and I will testify to you, Israel, if you would listen to me! There shall be no strange god in you, Neither shall you worship any foreign god. I am the Lord, your God, Who brought you up out of the land of Egypt. Open your mouth wide, and I will fill it. But my people didn't listen to my voice. Israel desired none of me.
One of the scribes came and heard them questioning together, and knowing that he had answered them well, asked him, "Which commandment is the greatest of all?"
Jesus answered, "The greatest is: 'Hear, Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is one. You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your mind, and with all your strength.' This is the first commandment. The second is like this: 'You shall love your neighbor as yourself.' There is no other commandment greater than these."
The scribe said to him, "Truly, teacher, you have said well that he is one, and there is none other but he; And to love him with all the heart, with all the understanding, all the soul, and with all the strength, and to love his neighbor as himself, is more important than all whole burnt offerings and sacrifices."
When Jesus saw that he answered wisely, he said to him, "You are not far from God's Kingdom."
No one dared ask him any question after that.
The scribe in Mark's Gospel asks Jesus about the greatest commandment, but notice what happens next—he doesn't just receive an answer, he engages with it. When Jesus speaks of loving God with everything we have and loving our neighbor as ourselves, the scribe responds with understanding, even adding his own insight about how this love matters more than ritual sacrifices. There's something refreshing about this honest exchange, this willingness to wrestle with what really matters.
Hosea offers us similar directness: "Take words with you, and return to the Lord." Not elaborate ceremonies or perfect behavior—just honest words. The prophet acknowledges our tendency to put trust in the wrong things, whether it's military power ("we won't ride on horses") or the work of our own hands. Yet God's response is tender: "I will heal their waywardness. I will love them freely."
This healing love isn't abstract theology—it shows up in our Monday morning frustrations, our evening conversations with family, our interactions with difficult coworkers. The movement here is from scattered loyalties to focused love, from trying to manage our spiritual lives through external performances to the deeper work of letting God transform our hearts.
The scribe recognizes that loving God and neighbor surpasses "all whole burnt offerings and sacrifices." In our context, this might mean that showing patience with our children matters more than perfect church attendance, or that listening compassionately to a struggling friend carries more weight than flawless prayer routines.
Jesus tells the scribe he's "not far from God's Kingdom." Consider how this kingdom isn't a distant destination but something we can be close to right now, in ordinary moments of choosing love over convenience.
What would it look like to love God with all our strength in the specific circumstances we'll face today? How might we recognize when we're putting trust in the "work of our hands" rather than in God's faithful love?