April 22, 2007
The Ven Richard I Cluett
Acts 9:1-6 + Revelaton 5:11-14 + John 21:1-19
This has been a week of death, pain, tragedy, terror, fear and heroism. At Virginia Tech, in colleges and universities, in towns and villages and cities, and in homes throughout this land and throughout the world where vulnerability, the fragility of life, and human powerlessness in the face of death have all been re-woven in horrific bold relief.
“Life is a crap-shoot,” I have heard it said this week. You never know when your number is up. Others said, “Life is like being a fish in a barrel, there’s no escape.” Even if you know, you can’t do anything about it.
As if they were saying, We are at the mercy of random chance. We are at the mercy of fickle fate. We are at the mercy of the powers of darkness. We are at the mercy of the forces of evil. We are at the mercy of the capricious ways, whims and wiles of the world.
We are at the mercy…
Lord have mercy…
The victims at Virginia Tech ranged in age from 18 to 76; they came from nine states, along with Puerto Rico, Egypt, India, Indonesia, and Romania. They were male and female, African-American, Asian, Middle Eastern and Caucasian. They were all people who began a day little knowing it would suddenly end their lives. True also for the victims of the Baghdad bombings this week – and every week.
Dear friend Barbara Crafton wrote through her own pain, Oh, beloved! Oh, dear and funny ones, serious young ones, confused and uncertain young ones and confident young ones -- may the holy angels lead you into paradise and may you be there, in some mysterious way, everything God intended you to be here! Oh, mothers, fathers, sisters and brothers, grandmas and granddads! Oh, aunts and uncles and cousins and friends -- you all deserved so much better than this. *
In the memorial convocation Tuesday evening at Virginia Tech, Professor and poet Nikki Giovanni said: “We are sad today, and we will be sad for quite a while. We are not moving on, we are embracing our mourning. … We do not understand this tragedy. We know we did nothing to deserve it, but neither does a child in Africa dying of AIDS, neither do the invisible children walking the night away to avoid being captured by the rogue army, neither does the Mexican child looking for fresh water, … No one deserves a tragedy.”
Each of them, each victim of terror was taken where they had no thought of going, where they had no desire to go.
And in the gospel lesson, following breakfast on the beach Jesus tells Peter a hard truth, “Very truly, I tell you, when you were younger, you used to fasten your own belt and to go wherever you wished. But when you grow old, you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will fasten a belt around you and take you where you do not wish to go.” Eventually and finally that is true for each and every one of us.
The question of death and how to live with it comes to us as we see family and friends – and ourselves – age, face life threatening diseases, accidents, happenstance – being in the wrong place at the wrong time – and terminal illness. The fragility of life and our utter powerlessness in the face of death.
At such a time we need to remember lessons that we have learned from the experience and testimony of others – lessons that remind us of important realities:
1) life is a gift from God,
2) the importance of family, friends, and community, and
3) the place of God and faith in our lives.
The undeniable truth that life is a gift – a gift from God – is paramount in our faith. The fragility of life becomes clear as we deal with our own limitations. In the face of death we are powerless. We face the mystery of life as we taste the possibility of death. The “why” and the “how” and the “when”remain a mystery to the very end. Death brings us to the farthest reaches of human experience and understanding. It brings us to the very edge, closer to the mystery than ever before.
And so we must finally turn to God, and we must turn to each other.
In such a time, in this event we can rediscover the strength and wisdom held by family and friends. They can grace us with the insight of our deep need to belong to family and to community. It can remind us of the truth of belonging to God’s family and of the comfort and power of that relationship. That is precisely why as he was dying on the Cross Jesus commended his mother Mary and his beloved disciple to one another.
We are reminded of what is really important in life and what is trivial. It gives us a chance to rediscover and treasure the beauty, flawed as it might be, of family and friends, and to be patient with our own beauty. We rediscover anew our interdependence with others and the bonds of life we share.
Ultimately, the mystery of death offers the great lesson of the importance of God in our lives. When we cannot bear the unbearable, our refuge is in God. Where else can we turn except to the one who says, “Come to me all who bear heavy burdens and I will give you rest”?
It is like being welcomed into the hospitality of Jesus the Risen Christ as he welcomed those to breakfast on the shores of Galilee.
When the tomb was empty it radiated with the risen Christ. Whether our hearts are empty or full they, too, can radiate with the Risen Christ and the knowledge that both the ones we have loved and lost, and we ourselves are in the embrace of the loving God yesterday, today, tomorrow and for all time, no matter what.
*Worst Case Scenario, April 17, 2007
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Sunday, April 22, 2007
Sunday, April 15, 2007
Easter 2: Retracing our Steps
The Rev. Canon Anne E. Kitch
Acts 5:27-32, Revelation 1:4-8, John 20:19-31
A friend of mine wears a button that says, “I remember I walked into this room for a reason.” You know this thing that happens when we suddenly find ourselves standing in the middle of the living room and wondering what it was we intended to do. Some say that this is a symptom of aging, that as we age we forget more. Perhaps. But it seems to me that I have been retracing my steps for as long as I can remember. I am ever hopeful that if I walk the path again, or go back to where I started the thought process, my body will somehow remember what was so important. Remembering is important. Retracing our steps is not just a telling act of aging, but a necessary act of living more deeply. In her book The Desert Mothers: Spiritual Practices from the Women of the Wilderness, Episcopal priest Mary Earle writes that in the tradition of desert spirituality, “the primordial sin is the sin of forgetting—forgetting that God brings us into being and that each life is a treasure.”
Today we retrace our Easter steps. We hear the Easter story again, so that we can remember why we came into this room. It is still the day of the resurrection in this story from John’s Gospel. Mary Magdalene has encountered Christ at the empty tomb, but the other disciples have not. As they gather that evening, perhaps trying to make sense of what Mary has told them, Jesus is suddenly among them. He greets them with peace. He shows them his hands and side, demonstrating that the risen one still bears the wounds of his humanity and suffering. He commissions them all, “As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” He gives them strength for the journey, breathing the Holy Spirit on them, into them. But Thomas isn’t there. The others tell him later, “We have seen the Lord!” But he wants to see for himself.
Doubting Thomas. I often think we give Thomas a hard time, calling him the doubter. All he wants is to see the risen Christ. He wants to touch him and know this miracle is true. After all, everyone else got to; they didn’t have to believe without seeing. Wouldn’t you want to see for yourself? Wouldn’t you want to touch Christ and know this miracle in person? A week later, Thomas gets his chance. The community gathers again and this time Thomas is there. Christ comes again. Thomas sees and touches and believes. See, the moment at the tomb when Mary recognizes the risen Christ is a glorious one—but it is not the only moment of encounter. Mary first tells the others about it, and then they meet the risen Christ in the upper room. They too go out and tell what they have seen, and Thomas comes. From the very beginning the disciples have to rehearse it. They retrace their steps to remind themselves of the reality and significance of the resurrection. They gather again, tell the story again and eventually some of them will write it down.
Do you remember what Christ says after Thomas has seen him? Blessed are those who have not seen, and yet have come to believe. That is us. Christ calls us blessed. Because we do not have that first-person, hands-on experience of the risen one—or do we? Who are we, this gathered community? Are we not the body of Christ? And when we gather each week, when we retrace our steps and remember and rehearse the story, we embody Christ for all who are searching. Do you remember what the writer of John’s gospel says at the end of telling the Easter story? “I am writing this so that you may come to believe. I am retracing my steps so that I can remember and tell you. I am retelling the story so that you can believe and that in believing you can have life.”
You may not think that you have this life in you. There are days when I am not sure what I believe and am certain I have nothing to offer anyone. So, you may feel abundantly full of new life today, or you may feel that you have nothing to offer anyone else. Nevertheless, people will find Christ here. People will experience new life here today because you are here. Because you have retraced your steps to here, others will experience the risen Christ. This is what we do when we gather each week. We are the body of Christ. We are here so that anyone who is searching for Christ can find that life here. Maybe it is someone who has never been here before, maybe it is someone who is always here. Remember, you came here for a reason. Remember, it is still Easter.
The push of Holy Week crescendos in the burst of glory that last week’s Easter celebration was. But that is not all. The fast of Lent was 40 days and the feast of Easter is even longer: the Great 50 Days we call it. It is a seven week long party and celebration. This is reflected in our liturgy: the Alleluias have been uncovered, the Paschal candle burns brightly and we dress the church in the white vestments of the resurrection. But perhaps this story gets too familiar, or old, or easy. What reminds us “Why did I walk into this room?” Why are we here now today? So we retrace our steps and retell the story. As we gathered today, the children flowered this cross to remember the new life that Christ offers and to remind us that the Easter celebration continues. And in just a few moments, our young people will help us all remember that God brings us into being, and each of us is a treasure.
All through Lent, the youth of this parish have been collecting for the Heifer Project, a ministry which provides livestock to families so they can provide a living for themselves. It is a ministry that gives life. Through the Heifer Project, you can send a hive of bees, a flock of chickens or even a heifer. The youth of this parish will bring forward their offerings today, and when the money is counted, they will gather together and choose what gift of life they can send to someone who needs life. They will share the new life they find in Easter with others. We remember that all are treasured by offering some of our treasure. But I tell you, the coins that will go into this ark up here are not the greatest treasure we will send from this congregation. We also send forth the treasure of our children’s hope and generosity which they offer so willingly. The first Heifer offering to be received came last night, as one of our teenagers made sure to bring it with her to Saturday’s service. She remembered.
We are gathered here today, but Thomas is not here. Someone is missing. Someone who may be here next week and needs to hear the story. Someone who needs to experience this community. Perhaps for the first time. Perhaps for the hundredth. That is a treasure that we can offer. That is the gift of life that we embody at this very moment. That is why we tell the story over and over again. We remind one another why we came into this room. This room of a glorious Cathedral. This room of love and community. This room of hope for a different way of life. Remember, you came into this room for a reason.
Copyright © 2007 Anne E. Kitch
Saturday, April 07, 2007
Easter Vigil: Unexpected Curves Ahead
The Rev. Canon Anne E. Kitch
Exodus 14:10-15:1, Romans 6:3-11, Luke 24:1-10
It was one of those typical family vacations to a faraway destination. Each day had some new activity on the agenda. On this particular day, my friends were headed in their rented car up a mountain to a wilderness preserve. It was supposed to be spectacular with plenty of hiking trails and beautiful scenery. This was one of the key destinations of their entire trip. Unfortunately, the map didn’t indicate just how winding the road was. It was switchback after switchback up the side of a steep mountain, hairpin curves every 15 feet. Soon their youngest, who always gets carsick, was begging them to stop. What began as a joyful family outing became tedious and unpleasant. They had to give in. They had to give up. They would not reach their planned destination. In great disappointment, they sought another route home. Along this unplanned route they encountered an old stone observation tower. With nothing better to do they stopped to explore. Beautifully built, in a way that no one would take care to now, it boasted stone turrets and all. From its top they could see for miles and miles, and its castle-like construction lent itself to much imaginative play by the children. At the end of the day, they all had to agree that while it had not been day they expected, it hadn’t been so bad. It had turned out all right after all. Upon later reflection, they began to value more and more the treasure they had found.
It occurs to me that the roadmap of life often fails to clue us in on just how winding and treacherous the road ahead will be. We may have some idea—or a very certain idea—of where we are going and how we want it all turn out. It just doesn’t work out that way. Sometimes (many times) we find ourselves at a point along the way when we have to give in and give up what we thought was our destination. We have to regroup, redirect, reorient ourselves. Parenting is like that too. Even when the parenting books, friends and family, and our own experience warn us that there are sharp curves ahead, we don’t really know what the road is like until we get there.
I am sorry to tell you here tonight, on this most sacred nights of the Christian year, that baptism is no different. Now you may be new to the church or a life-long member. Either way, you may have been led to believe that the church is somehow different than the rest of life. You may have thought that the road to salvation is one you can be sure of and if you follow all the signs there will be no treacherous curves along the way. You may have been lead to believe or hope that a life in Christ is one that has a very specific road map with all the curves and pitfalls clearly marked so that you can avoid them (or one with no pitfalls at all). Or perhaps you believe that if you are just a good enough driver, one well schooled in prayer and scripture, that the path of Christian life is always smooth—as long as you stay on the straight and narrow. Folks, I am here to tell you…I do not know a single person on that path. Not a one.
I’ve met some people who think they know that way. There are people who believe they carry a perfect road map to God’s Kingdom. But I have yet to meet any one, faithful or not, who has not encountered a real detour. Our bible is not a roadmap predicting what life will be. Our church traditions and creeds do not spell it out. Even our Baptismal Covenant, which we are about to renew, is a wonderful guideline but not a prescription for a worry free journey. None of these show us just how winding the road actually is, or guarantee our arrival at a destination of our choosing.
Nevertheless, here we all are, engaged in our Christian Pilgrimage. And here is Zachary, whose parents and godparents are willing to stand up here in front of all of you and commit Zachary to this life in Christ—even though they know through experience that life is unpredictable to say the least. They are going to present Zachary to all of us and promise some outrageous things. And so are we. Then we are going to talk over to that font, and pour water over Zachary’s head, and baptize him with ancient words, and mark him as Christ’s own…and all that won’t tell them what is ahead. Why in the world would they do this? Why would anyone? Why would anyone choose to pass through the waters of baptism if the road ahead is so difficult and baptism doesn’t change it or make the way clear?
When the Israelites crossed through the waters of the red sea to escape certain death at the hands of the Egyptians, they encountered the desert. While they greeted their rescue from the Egyptians with songs of joy and a great big party, the celebration did not last long. They were soon back to their old song of complaining. The desert was not their planned destination. They thought they were heading for the Promised Land. Apparently the map God gave Moses didn’t indicate just how hard the desert would be. After all it took them 40 years to travel 400 miles (or 600 miles of they took the circuitous route, even so). But what did they discover in the desert? What treasures were there for them?
Are you familiar with Calvin and Hobbes? Not the philosophers, but the cartoon. Calvin, the young boy, is digging for buried treasure in his backyard with Hobbes, his stuffed Tiger and best friend. Hobbes excitedly asks Calvin if he has found anything.
“A few dirty rocks, a weird root and some disgusting grubs.”
“On your first try?”
What treasures are there for us to discover along the unexpected turns of life? Do we always recognize them when we see them?
You know, not one of the disciples had a road map that indicated all the curves, even though there had been plenty of signs: Warning: dangerous teaching. Slow: betrayers at hand. Caution: crucifixion ahead. Jesus had even told them the outcome: Watch: resurrection coming. But Jesus’ death was not what they planned for and the resurrection was not what they were expecting. A risen Lord was certainly not what Mary Magdalene, Joanna and Mary were looking for that morning. Even with a helpful guide to redirect them, “Why are you looking for the living among the dead?”, we have to wonder if they really grasped what they had discovered. After all they didn’t get to see Jesus just then. Real encounters with the risen lord didn’t take place at the empty tomb in Luke’s account. It wasn’t until evening, as they all gathered and shared the accounts of their strange day—the women at the tomb, the two disciples on the road to Emmaus, Peter—that Jesus suddenly appears among them and they began to perceive the real treasure they had found. It would take them years to realize the implications. Perhaps 2000 years. Perhaps longer.
Baptism doesn’t change the road ahead. It changes us. We are broken open in baptism and bathed in the Holy Spirit so that if we are ever broken again, when we are broken again, we still have our life in Christ. And baptism come gifts for the road: the gift of this paschal light that conquers the dark, the gift of this community, companions along the way, the gift of Holy Spirit. Among Zachary’s baptismal gifts is not the perfect road map. But we have so much more for him. As he comes up out of the baptismal waters, we will pray over him this wonderful prayer asking that God give him an inquiring and discerning heart, courage to will and to persevere, a spirit to know and to love God, and the gift of joy and wonder. Joy and wonder in all of God’s works. Joy and wonder at treasure discovered along the way. Joy and wonder in unexpected watch towers to play on, and perhaps even the joy and wonder of having to take another road.
We are about to head up the road to the Baptismal waters tonight. You have a map of the liturgy in your hands. But I have to warn you, even though I spent a good deal of time on it, I’m not sure all the curves are clearly marked. There is a good likelihood we will not end up exactly where we planned. I’m game…are you?
Copyright © 2007 Anne E. Kitch
Exodus 14:10-15:1, Romans 6:3-11, Luke 24:1-10
It was one of those typical family vacations to a faraway destination. Each day had some new activity on the agenda. On this particular day, my friends were headed in their rented car up a mountain to a wilderness preserve. It was supposed to be spectacular with plenty of hiking trails and beautiful scenery. This was one of the key destinations of their entire trip. Unfortunately, the map didn’t indicate just how winding the road was. It was switchback after switchback up the side of a steep mountain, hairpin curves every 15 feet. Soon their youngest, who always gets carsick, was begging them to stop. What began as a joyful family outing became tedious and unpleasant. They had to give in. They had to give up. They would not reach their planned destination. In great disappointment, they sought another route home. Along this unplanned route they encountered an old stone observation tower. With nothing better to do they stopped to explore. Beautifully built, in a way that no one would take care to now, it boasted stone turrets and all. From its top they could see for miles and miles, and its castle-like construction lent itself to much imaginative play by the children. At the end of the day, they all had to agree that while it had not been day they expected, it hadn’t been so bad. It had turned out all right after all. Upon later reflection, they began to value more and more the treasure they had found.
It occurs to me that the roadmap of life often fails to clue us in on just how winding and treacherous the road ahead will be. We may have some idea—or a very certain idea—of where we are going and how we want it all turn out. It just doesn’t work out that way. Sometimes (many times) we find ourselves at a point along the way when we have to give in and give up what we thought was our destination. We have to regroup, redirect, reorient ourselves. Parenting is like that too. Even when the parenting books, friends and family, and our own experience warn us that there are sharp curves ahead, we don’t really know what the road is like until we get there.
I am sorry to tell you here tonight, on this most sacred nights of the Christian year, that baptism is no different. Now you may be new to the church or a life-long member. Either way, you may have been led to believe that the church is somehow different than the rest of life. You may have thought that the road to salvation is one you can be sure of and if you follow all the signs there will be no treacherous curves along the way. You may have been lead to believe or hope that a life in Christ is one that has a very specific road map with all the curves and pitfalls clearly marked so that you can avoid them (or one with no pitfalls at all). Or perhaps you believe that if you are just a good enough driver, one well schooled in prayer and scripture, that the path of Christian life is always smooth—as long as you stay on the straight and narrow. Folks, I am here to tell you…I do not know a single person on that path. Not a one.
I’ve met some people who think they know that way. There are people who believe they carry a perfect road map to God’s Kingdom. But I have yet to meet any one, faithful or not, who has not encountered a real detour. Our bible is not a roadmap predicting what life will be. Our church traditions and creeds do not spell it out. Even our Baptismal Covenant, which we are about to renew, is a wonderful guideline but not a prescription for a worry free journey. None of these show us just how winding the road actually is, or guarantee our arrival at a destination of our choosing.
Nevertheless, here we all are, engaged in our Christian Pilgrimage. And here is Zachary, whose parents and godparents are willing to stand up here in front of all of you and commit Zachary to this life in Christ—even though they know through experience that life is unpredictable to say the least. They are going to present Zachary to all of us and promise some outrageous things. And so are we. Then we are going to talk over to that font, and pour water over Zachary’s head, and baptize him with ancient words, and mark him as Christ’s own…and all that won’t tell them what is ahead. Why in the world would they do this? Why would anyone? Why would anyone choose to pass through the waters of baptism if the road ahead is so difficult and baptism doesn’t change it or make the way clear?
When the Israelites crossed through the waters of the red sea to escape certain death at the hands of the Egyptians, they encountered the desert. While they greeted their rescue from the Egyptians with songs of joy and a great big party, the celebration did not last long. They were soon back to their old song of complaining. The desert was not their planned destination. They thought they were heading for the Promised Land. Apparently the map God gave Moses didn’t indicate just how hard the desert would be. After all it took them 40 years to travel 400 miles (or 600 miles of they took the circuitous route, even so). But what did they discover in the desert? What treasures were there for them?
Are you familiar with Calvin and Hobbes? Not the philosophers, but the cartoon. Calvin, the young boy, is digging for buried treasure in his backyard with Hobbes, his stuffed Tiger and best friend. Hobbes excitedly asks Calvin if he has found anything.
“A few dirty rocks, a weird root and some disgusting grubs.”
“On your first try?”
What treasures are there for us to discover along the unexpected turns of life? Do we always recognize them when we see them?
You know, not one of the disciples had a road map that indicated all the curves, even though there had been plenty of signs: Warning: dangerous teaching. Slow: betrayers at hand. Caution: crucifixion ahead. Jesus had even told them the outcome: Watch: resurrection coming. But Jesus’ death was not what they planned for and the resurrection was not what they were expecting. A risen Lord was certainly not what Mary Magdalene, Joanna and Mary were looking for that morning. Even with a helpful guide to redirect them, “Why are you looking for the living among the dead?”, we have to wonder if they really grasped what they had discovered. After all they didn’t get to see Jesus just then. Real encounters with the risen lord didn’t take place at the empty tomb in Luke’s account. It wasn’t until evening, as they all gathered and shared the accounts of their strange day—the women at the tomb, the two disciples on the road to Emmaus, Peter—that Jesus suddenly appears among them and they began to perceive the real treasure they had found. It would take them years to realize the implications. Perhaps 2000 years. Perhaps longer.
Baptism doesn’t change the road ahead. It changes us. We are broken open in baptism and bathed in the Holy Spirit so that if we are ever broken again, when we are broken again, we still have our life in Christ. And baptism come gifts for the road: the gift of this paschal light that conquers the dark, the gift of this community, companions along the way, the gift of Holy Spirit. Among Zachary’s baptismal gifts is not the perfect road map. But we have so much more for him. As he comes up out of the baptismal waters, we will pray over him this wonderful prayer asking that God give him an inquiring and discerning heart, courage to will and to persevere, a spirit to know and to love God, and the gift of joy and wonder. Joy and wonder in all of God’s works. Joy and wonder at treasure discovered along the way. Joy and wonder in unexpected watch towers to play on, and perhaps even the joy and wonder of having to take another road.
We are about to head up the road to the Baptismal waters tonight. You have a map of the liturgy in your hands. But I have to warn you, even though I spent a good deal of time on it, I’m not sure all the curves are clearly marked. There is a good likelihood we will not end up exactly where we planned. I’m game…are you?
Copyright © 2007 Anne E. Kitch
Friday, April 06, 2007
Good Friday: Words from the Cross
Meditations from the Cathedral
April 6, 2007
The First Word ~ The Rev Canon Anne E Kitch
“Father, forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing” Luke 23:34
This is where we begin--on the cross. The scene of an execution. Amongst the depraved condemned. “When they came to the place that is called The Scull, they crucified Jesus there with the criminals, one on his right and one on his left. Then Jesus said, ‘Father forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.’”
This is where we begin--in ugliness. The scene of vicious humanity at its worst. In the midst of the possibility of forgiveness. This is where we begin.
I am always wishing it were earlier. Wishing that I had gotten up earlier, to get a start on my day. Wishing I had arrived earlier, to get settled before stuff happens. Wishing I had learned earlier, to be less anxious and more forthright, less angry and more patient, less hurtful and hurt, less dismissive and ignored, less unavailable and isolated. It is a wish that suggests that somehow with the right head start I could escape a certain amount of sin--my own sinfulness--my own distortion of self--my own fiction that I am not constantly in abundant need of healing.
Forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing. What is it that they do not know? That Jesus is the messiah? That they shouldn’t hurt people? That participating in casual violence does violence to one’s own soul? That thinking they are fine and it is the others who are the problem is a problem in and of itself? Do they not know that one’s own soul is there on the cross … in the midst of--one of--the criminals? Those lost. Those hopeless. Those willful unrepentant. Those timid who cannot possibly repent because they know they are unworthy of forgiveness? Do they not know? Do they not recognize themselves? Do we not know?
In truth, we cannot grasp the mystery of the cross. Yet here we are grasping. Here we are choosing to be here of all places on this particular April day, here in this Cathedral, here in this long slow liturgy. We simple do not know all about the cross. We do not know the reason for it in its entirety. Could something we can easily understand be the thing that saves us? Could something we grasp be big enough to make things right? Wouldn’t it have to be something that could grasp us? Something like forgiveness?
Forgiveness is there in the horror of the cross. Jesus is there, among us at our worst, at our center. Jesus is here. We find Christ not amongst those poor, not at our right side when we are our most upright and patient and loving selves, but in the ugliness of our own sins and violence and lostness and devastation. Christ is here. Dare I be here? Dare I acknowledge my place among the condemned and take up my own cross? What will I find? Apparently Christ. Apparently forgiveness. Crying those words of forgiveness from the cross Jesus throws out a plea. He flings something at us: a safety net, a web of forgives, the mesh of hope?
We are carried now during Holy Week, carried along by an uncompromising wave of liturgy and our own need. Father, forgive us. Forgive us as we stumble through this world. Forgive us as we ritualize our relationship with the cross. Forgive us as we ignore and turn away from the need in us and others. Forgive us--we really do not know what we are doing.
The Second Word ~ The Rev Canon Bill Lewellis
“Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in paradise.” Luke 23:43
Crooked crosses
They seized him and led him away. “I do not know him,” Peter said. They mocked him. They beat him. “Crucify him,” they shouted. They crucified Jesus, with criminals, one on his right and one on his left.
During my early 30’s, after I had just celebrated Eucharist in a convent with a small group of Roman Catholic nuns, one of the very old sisters, Sister Mara (the cook sister), proudly showed me the beautifully designed altar hanging the sisters had made for Lent. “If we die with the Lord, we shall live with the Lord,” it said around the edges. In the center, stylized crosses had been sewn into the cloth. Sister Mara called them … crooked crosses.
She asked me if I knew why they were crooked. She was eager to tell me. “They are crooked,” she said, “because our crosses don’t always come out the way we want them to.”
Some of you, I suspect, know about crooked crosses.
Temptations
The grounding moment of Jesus’ public life was his baptism, where he heard: “You are my beloved.” Luke, in his gospel, tells us that that core experience was followed immediately by Jesus’ confrontation with three temptations … aimed at getting him to smooth out the sharpt double-edge of being God’s “beloved.”.
The temptations – I think not a once and done event – were about the continuing struggle Jesus experienced after recognizing in his human heart and mind and consciousness that his identity and mission as God’s beloved might well include a crooked cross. Simply as a Jew who was familiar with his scriptures, Jesus knew what Isaiah said about “God’s beloved,” an unnamed Servant of the Lord: that he would suffer for his people.
Jesus struggled within himself about whether there might be a better, a more efficient, a less controversial way: Miracles? Magic? Smoke and mirrors?
In the wilderness – and, I suppose, throughout his life – Jesus struggled with temptations that would enable him to avoid crooked crosses.
Taunts
Even at the end. There were taunts. Three taunts. Upon reading Luke’s gospel, one might wonder whether Luke intentionally, as a rhetorical device, bookended his account of the public ministry of Jesus with three temptations at the beginning and three taunts at the end.
The leaders of the people taunted him: “He saved others; let him save himself if he is the Messiah of God, his chosen one.” The soldiers taunted him: “If you are the King of the Jews, save yourself.” And one of the criminals who were hanged there [with Jesus] kept deriding him and saying, "Are you not the Messiah? Save yourself and us!"
You will be with me
The other criminal rebuked the one who taunted Jesus … And he said, "Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom." Jesus replied, "Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise."
Crucified between criminals … as a third criminal … on a crooked cross … tempted throughout life to avoid crooked crosses, Jesus was taunted, even while on the cross, to save himself.
Perhaps with some irony, Luke records an act of salvation in a situation where the word “save” had been used in taunts and ridicule. Jesus does save someone, a dying criminal … the type of person blessed by Jesus throughout his ministry. In his dying hour, Jesus continues his ministry: “For the Son of man came to seek and to save the lost.”
You will be with me …
Just the gospel of Jesus Christ
Just this morning, I read an anecdote about preaching that I can’t resist passing on. The writer recalled settling into a pew in a big-city church in southeast Texas many years ago for the three-hour Good Friday liturgy to hear “a visiting fireman preacher who was supposed to be pretty good.” At the beginning of the parson's first meditation on the seven last words, he said, "I am not going to talk about anything controversial." There was a palpable sigh of relief throughout the congregation. Then he added, "I am just going to preach the gospel of Jesus Christ."
Hmmm. I don’t know the rest of the story. One thought does come to mind: how we’ve managed to domesticate the gospel, to smooth out its crooked crosses.
We began this week, on Palm Sunday, asking God in the prayers to assist us “to contemplate the mystery of our salvation.” The mystery: the veiled and the visible.
Despite the veil and the crooked crosses, I know that I am God’s beloved. I’ve heard Jesus say, “You will be with me.”
Beyond the veil, it is crucial to my relationship with Jesus to believe that Jesus lived his life without knowing how things were going to turn out … that he was not an actor following a script, knowing the ending.
Because Jesus was truly human, he had no more (and no less) reason to trust God than you and I do. He had the tradition. He had the scriptures. He had friends. He had contemplation and prayer.
The man on the cross between criminals trusted, in the face of evidence to the contrary, that he was God’s beloved. He trusted enough even to say to the criminal, “You, too, are God’s beloved … and will be with me.” That’s the gospel of Jesus Christ.
The Third Word ~ The Rev. T Scott Allen
"Woman here is your son...here is your mother." John 19:26-27
You know, I wish more Episcopalians published reflections and theology on the World Wide Web. That may seem like an odd first sentence for a Good Friday sermon, but in doing my research for today I "googled" key phrases and concepts around this passage from John's gospel and got screen after screen of Roman Catholic and Orthodox writings and web-sites (FINALLY on screen 15 I got a Quaker site!). Some were OK others were just sorta bizarre-you know the ones that put Mary in the Trinity as a God-like figure, or the best "Mary cured my Cat". As if being the Theotokos "The God Bearer" wasn't enough!
I always wondered out loud why Mary couldn't just be a woman who said yes to God to bear God into the world in human form? I also have little interest in debates over Mary's perpetual virginity and whether the brothers and sisters mentioned in the scriptures were fraternal siblings or extended "cousins". And Mary's assumption into heaven is problematic for me as well-I mean, to me, its far more miraculous that God took an ordinary young Jewish woman in Palestine and ask her to bear him into the world. And that eventually this faithful and special woman just died and was buried-like the rest of us (now thats a miracle in my estimation). If God can use a person like that God might be able to use me.
Perhaps because of my Baptist upbringing and misinformation given to me by my spiritual elders at the time that "Catholics worship Mary and NOT GOD!" I am given to this and my only hope is that if I have offended Jesus' mother, she and her Son will forgive me.
In the Synoptic Gospels, Mary only appears once after the nativity/childhood stories of Jesus. when further in the story, they announce her presence (and that of his brothers and sisters) to Jesus and his disciples and it is met with less than enthusiastic response from her Divine Son with "Who are my brothers and sisters?" and answered with "Whoever does the will of God is brother and sister and mother to me." And the only other mention of Mary in this, John's gospel, is at the wedding celebration in Cana, where he responds to his mother's concern about the wine running out with shortness and indifference. But lets just point out, while he snapped at her that his 'time had not come' , he did what she requested.
One can only imagine modern day family therapists having a field day about "emotional cut-offs" in the Holy Family.
So Mary's presence at the foot of the cross with the Beloved Disciple (young John) is not insignificant today. The fact that she not only appears, but is the first of the two addressed gives us a window into into the meaning of this portion of the Passion.
A traditional reading of this passage from Augustine to Aquinas has this scene as a "last will and testament" of sorts where Jesus (in an act of filial piety)1 is worried about the welfare of his Mom after his death and asks his best friend to watch over her and protect her. This is plausible, meets our needs to see Jesus as nice guy and a good son. Then there is the interpretation of Mary (as the "new" Eve) who becomes the universal mother of all those who come to new (and eternal) life in faith. This is another perfectly good and rational reading of this passage.
But the Roman Catholic biblical scholar Raymond Brown (who is the preeminent libexpert on John's gospel) in his book "Death of the Messiah" has a middle interpretation to help us unlock the significance of this scene-he says " the significance of this episode lies in the new relationship between the mother of Jesus and beloved disciple, not in symbolism attached to Mary through the history of interpretation."2
Now that I have tried to satisfy the intellects with the basis of this argument, then we need to turn to the more emotional and spiritual meaning of this scene on this day. What does it mean for us? How does it challenge our lives and our living as Christians?
Its clear that these last words spoken to observers of his death is meant to drive home a point about discipleship and the new community of disciples. And that point is that in the community of faith and indeed beyond, our mission is to see ourselves as Sons and Mothers, Daughters and Fathers, Brothers and Sisters to all we come in contact with. That is to see ourselves as disciples in a radical relatedness in the world. It breaks open the possibilities previously restricted by "blood" relationships. It makes us consider that blood is not thicker than baptismal water. Jesus is calling us all to be in a community where our relatedness is as intimate as a human family, but is based on our commitment to the Gospel and faith in Christ. In John it is so radical that one of the signs of the converted life is an irresistible attraction to community. Which challenges the modern idea which many of my friends tout "I can worship God when viewing the beauty of nature." But I think this scene in John says something quite different about the life in a process of conversion.
On the other hand, one cannot be unmoved by this scene--- a mother powerless to help her dying Son; a friend watching the person who made the only difference in his life that counted, watching him slowly slip into a torturous death by crucifixion-and again, powerless to help or comfort. On the other hand, it is the Crucified One who proclaims to both observers a new community based on discipleship and not pedigree.
It is clear that the beloved disciple (in Jesus' understanding) has begun the transformation that he came to bring and by taking in Mary, the natural and spiritual become united and integrated.
It is a lesson to us that the world has become our family. That those with whom we come in contact on a daily basis-both family and others-are potential spiritual kin. We are mother, father, sister, brother, child, daughter at different times and sometimes different roles at different times in the same day. But the head of our household is Christ who declares us part of a new relatedness to the world.
And because of this, we feel the joy of a child who has learned a new thing as if we were their own parent-and because of Christ, we are. We feel the sorrow of a father for his son who has been killed in war, whether it is our nation's loss or that of a perceived enemy. Ideologies and politics dissolve in light of the words we hear today-all people become our human family redeemed under the same cross. We are slow to anger and judge because the person across the table form us at a meeting is a brother or sister. We take the nurture of an elder because we are called to be sons and daughters as well.
If we embrace the meaning of this day we are both John and Mary. We are beloved by God and responsible for allowing God to be born into the world. We stand in an apparent powerless remembering Our Savior's torments and death. But more than that we are called to a radical relatedness as disciples of the Crucified One, to understand that because of these words "Woman here is your son....here is your mother." we are placed in a new place in how we understand our relationship to the human family. Jesus doesn't say here is your neighbor, your associate, your parishioner, your priest. NO he says here is your mother. And he doesn't say here is your friend, your colleague, your acquaintance, your fellow parishioner. NO He says here is your son.
Its counter cultural to have that kind of intimacy and vulnerability to one another, it just doesn't make sense in a world of dog eat dog and terrorism of all sorts-emotional, political, ecclesiastical and relational. But its what he declared to be. Here is your mother, here is your son. Pray that we may all receive the grace to our lives with the power of these words. Amen
1. Raymond E. Brown, The Death of the Messiah, p. 1024. The Anchor Bible Reference Library. 1994 Associated Sulpicians of the U.S.
2. Ibid.
The Fourth Word ~ The Rev Canon Jane B Teter
“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” Mark 15:34.
The story is told of German troops, who in 1942, invaded the city of Stalingrad, beginning one of the most ferocious battles of World War II. A commentator reports that within months, the German Sixth Army was “entirely cut off from help and abandoned to perish. The final plane out of the city carried seven bags of mail, and among those were the last letters written by the German soldiers who were, at that point, freezing, starving, and facing death.
One of those desperate soldiers wrote a letter home to his pastor:
.In Stalingrad, to put the question of God’s existence means to deny it….I regret my words….because they will be my last, and I won’t be able to speak any other words afterwards which might reconcile you and make up for these.
You are a pastor, Father, and in one’s last letter one says only what is true or what one believes might be true. I have searched for God in every crater, in every destroyed house, on every corner, in every friend, in my foxhole, and in the sky. God did not show Himself, even though my heart cried for Him….on earth there was hunger and murder, from the sky came bombs and fire, only God was not there. No, Father, there is no God. Again I write it and know that this is terrible and I cannot make up for it ever. And if there should be a God, He is only with you in the hymnals and prayers, in the pious sayings of the priests and pastors, in the ringing of the bells and the fragrance of incense, but not in Stalingrad.
Not in Stalingrad. Not in the furthest reaches of human despair. Not in the cry of Jesus on the cross: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” There are scholars who would claim that Jesus is merely quoting psalm 22 or fulfilling the scriptures. But I believe that Jesus is crying from the depth of human anguish. Like the soldier in Stalingrad – like many of us in our most desperate time – he is experiencing complete abandonment. What does that mean?
In her book, Christ’s Passion, Our Passions, Margaret Bullitt-Jonas says: “For one thing, a faith that believes that God will not let us suffer is not a Gospel faith. Surely the sight of Jesus enduring the deepest suffering a human being can know should burn away any fond hope that a faithful journey into God will keep us safe from hardship or distress.”.
Some of the most faithful people I know, or have known, have endured the worst suffering in their lives or the lives of their loved ones. The way to resurrection is through the experience of a pain and dying that cannot be bypassed. Your crucifixion and mine will be different. Jesus said, “Take up your cross and follow me.”
I am certain that many of you have experienced forsakenness, abandonment, terrible loneliness. Think for a minute about a time that you have felt forsaken, abandoned, alone.
Perhaps our worst fear has come true: our mother has Alzheimer’s, our son is doing drugs. Maybe we cannot pay the heating bill, or the mortgage and we are in fear of having our electricity cut off or losing our home. Maybe we never found the life partner we have always longed for; or perhaps our life is full of bitterness, envy or resentment.
Each of us, in some way or other, will learn that the only way to a new life in Christ comes through some painful moment that breaks everything apart. When we reach our Good Friday, we are confronted, as Jesus was, with the starkness of death – for in every crucifixion there is a death we need to die.
We are not here this Good Friday simply to watch Jesus die on a cross. We are here to die, also. What is it that needs to die in you and in me so that the love that sustains us at every moment can bring us to resurrected life? (pause) Maybe it is self-doubt, self-hatred that need to die, or the belief that we are not good enough, that we must earn God’s favor. Perhaps it is a relationship that needs to end or be drastically transformed.
Jesus experienced total abandonment on the cross. God the Father was with him, but God the Son did not know it. We. too, in our utter forsakenness are unaware of the presence of God. God may seem very far away. There are times when we feel we have hit rock bottom and we cry out, “Where is my God?” and only silence answers. As far as we know, we are abandoned and alone.
Yet, even in the center of apparent abandonment, God is with us. God is in the silence, in the void. God doesn’t take the void away, nor does he wipe it out. Instead, God in his compassion shares the void with us. The void is in God.
This is where trust comes in. In our worst moments, perhaps the only thing we can do is endure the situation, remembering that God is with us. Remembering Jesus words from the cross can give us hope. If we know that Christ entered and continues to enter human anguish and abandonment, then we know that our pain is not some private and meaningless crucifixion of our own. It is the crucifixion of Christ in which we share.
Grant to your people, Lord, grace to withstand the temptations of the world, the flesh, and the devil, and with pure hearts and minds to follow you, the only true God. Amen.
The Fifth Word ~ The Rev Canon Joel Atkinson
“I am thirsty.” John 19.28
How often in our lives have we been thirsty?
Reflecting upon this question meant for me
thinking about the different kinds of thirst I have experienced.
Seldom have I personally experienced the denial of the water essential for the maintenance of life.
though I’ve stood giving water and food to thirsty and dying Somali nomads
though I’ve witnessed the consequences of its absence on all sorts of plants and animal life
but never have I personally been denied the life giving properties of water.
Woe!!! I am telling a tale. When I played football in high school my coach forbid the drinking of water.
We were considered whimps if we drank water during practice.
My throat burned with thirst.
It is a wonder somebody did not die revealing the inaccuracy of his ridiculous prohibition.
Alarmingly I read of the denial of life giving waters in many places in our world:
due to our pollution of that water or
due to our failure to provide proper purification and delivery or
due to our over use of this valuable resource or
due large corporate enterprises seeking to develop a monopoly in the control of water
as a resource to increase the bottom line in their income statement.
Then the rhyme of the Ancient Mariner by Samuel David Coleridge comes to mind
when all aboard a ship at sea are either dead or is dying cause of the lack of water
ironically in spite of being surrounded by water as far as the eyes can see
“Water, water every where
but not a drop to drink.”
Water was everywhere but it contained death and not life because of the salt, which it contained.
We now know how to remove salt from waters of the sea through desalination.
I have lived in Saudi Arabia where large desalination plants
provide enormous qualities of life giving water.
The death for us is removed in this process.
In Lent the question for you and me
is how do we take the death out of the living waters of God which all surrounds
that which our lives crave if it of the proper kind?
Stated in another way,
how do we take that which denies us the life giving waters of God
from our lives so our thirst can be more fully quenched?
The answer to this question was an imperative for Jesus hanging and dying upon that terrible cross at Calvary.
Jesus hanging and dying there is as thirsty in ever way any of us could be
It is important not to deny his physicality. His body must have been afire with its denial.
Yet there is another kind of thirst he shares with us and with the Ancient Mariner.
We desire a life giving force to nurture our thirsty not merely now but forever more…
Jesus dying thirsted for the life giving waters of God to bail him out of the awful mess he was in.
He and we need a love that never, no never allows anything or anyone to stand in the way of the
life giving waters of God.
Even the judgment made on Jesus and that ugly life taking cross at Calvary did not stand in the way.
Jesus thirst, as it has been through out his life, is infinitely more than for himself
because Jesus thirsts for all of us as well.
This thirst was the meaning of his life…
A thirst for a love in which even hanging on the cross or standing at the grave
all God’s children know there is no end for them.
The deepest thirst for which Jesus suffered
was the thirst for which he’d come into the world,
a deep and unabidding need to bring creation
into a relationship from which spouts the life giving waters of God.
I thirst.
I thirst.
The Sixth Word ~ The Rev Canon Clifford B Carr
"When Jesus had received the wine, he said, “It is finished.” Then he bowed his head and gave up his spirit.” John19:30
“It is finished!” These words come as no surprise to us today. We expect to hear them, don’t we? And we can easily envision an exclamation point after the word “finished.” What does that phrase “it is finished” mean? Does it mean “over and done with?” Does it mean “it is accomplished”? What is the meaning?
“It is finished.” Indeed these words can mean, “Over with – over and done with.” Think of a frown, think of a feeling of depression – of a cause for deep trembling sadness.
We are not strangers to this feeling in our lifetimes. We all have experience with “it is finished.” A childhood friendship - - an adult relationship. Finished – over and done with.
It can happen with a job – a pink slip and we know that we are fired, laid off, out of work, dumped. Our job is finished – over and done with.
Sometimes the phrase can be used with a hobby. The ski season is over – the snow is gone and it’s time to put away the skis until next season. Or the hunting gear, the fishing rods and the garden tools. Seasons come and go, and our favorite pass-time is over and done with.
Someone sickens and dies in a hospital or nursing home – when you arrive you are met with the news: “It’s over – it’s finished. Mary has died.”
It’s happened to all of us – in these kinds of everyday situations.
But “it is finished” can also mean “it is accom- plished” – fulfilled – completed.
That calls for an exclamation point also! The job is done, the work is complete, perfected. A term paper or thesis. A book draft – a painting – a building project. This calls for a victory celebration, high-fiving the people all around. Claps on the back, perhaps even a bottle of champagne! In this case the mood of the phrase is quite different than we have been talking about. - - gone is the pessimism of “it’s over and done with.” Now there is something to be celebrated.
It is with this mood of victory and exclamation that we hear these words from the lips of Jesus. “It is finished!” His final words on earth, according to John’s Gospel are not “O shucks, it’s all over – close the books on that.” Not at all. The mood is just the opposite. When Jesus said “it is finished,” the Greek words mean “it is accomplished !!! I have done the job God gave me to do. Yes, God’s will has been done!
Paul understood this feeling as he came close to the end of his life, and wrote this in his 2nd letter to Timothy: “I have fought the good fight. I have finished the race; I have kept the faith. From now on there is reserved for me a crown of righteousness.”
Paul had finished the race God had given him to run, and this is what God wants for you and me as well: to do the work that God has given us to do while we are here on earth.
No matter how imperfect, no matter how sinful, no matter how many shortcomings we have, Jesus died to accomplish forgiveness for us. He stretched out his arms on the cross to enfold us in his saving embrace. Today’s liturgy tells us, that “by virtue of the cross, joy has come into the world.” The joy of accomplish- ment, the celebration of fullfilment. Knowing that, God wants us to feel the same way about our lives. God longs to say to each of us: “Well done, good and faithful servant – it is finished – God’s will has been accomplished through your life. You have fought the good fight, you have finished the race, you have kept the faith. A crown of glory waits for you.”
This is the work God has given us to do: to unite ourselves with the triumphant Christ and to work together with Him so that others may find life, the true life that can only come from Him who is the Way, the Truth and the Life.
In the gospel of John, written by one who was an eyewitness, standing at the very foot of the cross, we hear Jesus’ last words and the spirit of those words is triumphant, a strong finale.
It is accomplished!
The strife is o’er, the battle done,
The victory of life is won;
The song of triumph has begun.
It is finished!
The powers of death have done their worst,
But Christ their legions has dispersed;
Let shouts of holy joy outburst.
It is finished!
Amen.
The Seventh Word ~ The Ven Richard I Cluett
“Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.” Luke 23:46
Jesus was not saying anything or doing anything different here from what he had done his entire ministry. “Father, I put myself in your hands. Father, not my will but yours be done. Father, I put my self at your disposal.” Disposal, now there’s a word with multiple meanings.
But it is true to form for Jesus at this time to do that. He has run the race. He has practiced what he preached. He has walked the talk. All those platitudes have been made real and been lived out. And the final ultimate giving over to God is being accomplished on the cross.
Many of us spend much of our lives trying to keep control of our lives, attempting to wrest control of our lives from others – from parents, from employers, from the media, and from God. From our earliest days we are taught to make our own decisions, to be responsible for ourselves, to chart our own course, to control our own destinies.
“Grow up! Be a mensch, be a man!”
“I am woman. Hear me roar!”
We are reluctant to give ourselves over into the hands of any other person, being, entity, or power.
Both the prophets of old and the author of the Book of Hebrews have said, “it is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God.” Jesus didn’t think so. What do you think? What does your experience tell you?
There have been moments when I have given myself or some situation over to the hands of God – almost always as a last resort, often with a sense of frustration, maybe with the knowledge of my own impotence to do anything anyway; the very last option being commending myself into the hands of God.
Is that what was going on with Jesus? Was it the last resort? He had been at the mercy of the powers of this world for the last several hours – in the agony of their power. Did he just give up? Had he had enough and was now ready to succumb, to give up?
I don’t think so. If he had just given up, he would have simply slipped away into the merciful welcoming relief of death.
Instead, having experienced the worst that humanity has to give, having taken their best shot, having been to the depths of human frailty and human emotion… instead, he proclaims the truth that is at the core of his life and ministry, and one last time he declares, “Father into your hands I commend my spirit,” at the last asserting his control over his destiny… and that by commending himself, committing himself into the care of the Father.
Truth be told, in my own experience God has never failed to be there. Sometimes only when I have looked backward. Sometimes it has proven to be a fearsome thing to be in the hands of God, taking me where I did not want to go. Other times taking me gently to rest beside still waters. But there, always there, ever there – when I let God be there.
And truth be told, we will all, each and every one of us, come to a moment when we will be in the hands of God. We will either fall into the hands or give ourselves over into the hands of God, but either way we will be in God’s hands finally, at last, at our death.
Doesn’t it make sense to give ourselves as much time in God’s hand as possible? Doesn’t it make sense to learn about this God who, in the end, will reclaim us as God’s own. Having given us life, God will receive us at the end of it.
Right now, liturgically, we find ourselves in the silence of Jesus’ death, waiting until Sunday to know what God will do. Was it the right thing at the last to continue to trust?
We are not there yet liturgically, but we know already what happens on Sunday, early in the morning. So, yes we know it was the right thing for Jesus, and it is the right thing for us, too.
Father, help us to commend ourselves – our body and mind and spirit – into your hands. Amen.
April 6, 2007
The First Word ~ The Rev Canon Anne E Kitch
“Father, forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing” Luke 23:34
This is where we begin--on the cross. The scene of an execution. Amongst the depraved condemned. “When they came to the place that is called The Scull, they crucified Jesus there with the criminals, one on his right and one on his left. Then Jesus said, ‘Father forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.’”
This is where we begin--in ugliness. The scene of vicious humanity at its worst. In the midst of the possibility of forgiveness. This is where we begin.
I am always wishing it were earlier. Wishing that I had gotten up earlier, to get a start on my day. Wishing I had arrived earlier, to get settled before stuff happens. Wishing I had learned earlier, to be less anxious and more forthright, less angry and more patient, less hurtful and hurt, less dismissive and ignored, less unavailable and isolated. It is a wish that suggests that somehow with the right head start I could escape a certain amount of sin--my own sinfulness--my own distortion of self--my own fiction that I am not constantly in abundant need of healing.
Forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing. What is it that they do not know? That Jesus is the messiah? That they shouldn’t hurt people? That participating in casual violence does violence to one’s own soul? That thinking they are fine and it is the others who are the problem is a problem in and of itself? Do they not know that one’s own soul is there on the cross … in the midst of--one of--the criminals? Those lost. Those hopeless. Those willful unrepentant. Those timid who cannot possibly repent because they know they are unworthy of forgiveness? Do they not know? Do they not recognize themselves? Do we not know?
In truth, we cannot grasp the mystery of the cross. Yet here we are grasping. Here we are choosing to be here of all places on this particular April day, here in this Cathedral, here in this long slow liturgy. We simple do not know all about the cross. We do not know the reason for it in its entirety. Could something we can easily understand be the thing that saves us? Could something we grasp be big enough to make things right? Wouldn’t it have to be something that could grasp us? Something like forgiveness?
Forgiveness is there in the horror of the cross. Jesus is there, among us at our worst, at our center. Jesus is here. We find Christ not amongst those poor, not at our right side when we are our most upright and patient and loving selves, but in the ugliness of our own sins and violence and lostness and devastation. Christ is here. Dare I be here? Dare I acknowledge my place among the condemned and take up my own cross? What will I find? Apparently Christ. Apparently forgiveness. Crying those words of forgiveness from the cross Jesus throws out a plea. He flings something at us: a safety net, a web of forgives, the mesh of hope?
We are carried now during Holy Week, carried along by an uncompromising wave of liturgy and our own need. Father, forgive us. Forgive us as we stumble through this world. Forgive us as we ritualize our relationship with the cross. Forgive us as we ignore and turn away from the need in us and others. Forgive us--we really do not know what we are doing.
The Second Word ~ The Rev Canon Bill Lewellis
“Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in paradise.” Luke 23:43
Crooked crosses
They seized him and led him away. “I do not know him,” Peter said. They mocked him. They beat him. “Crucify him,” they shouted. They crucified Jesus, with criminals, one on his right and one on his left.
During my early 30’s, after I had just celebrated Eucharist in a convent with a small group of Roman Catholic nuns, one of the very old sisters, Sister Mara (the cook sister), proudly showed me the beautifully designed altar hanging the sisters had made for Lent. “If we die with the Lord, we shall live with the Lord,” it said around the edges. In the center, stylized crosses had been sewn into the cloth. Sister Mara called them … crooked crosses.
She asked me if I knew why they were crooked. She was eager to tell me. “They are crooked,” she said, “because our crosses don’t always come out the way we want them to.”
Some of you, I suspect, know about crooked crosses.
Temptations
The grounding moment of Jesus’ public life was his baptism, where he heard: “You are my beloved.” Luke, in his gospel, tells us that that core experience was followed immediately by Jesus’ confrontation with three temptations … aimed at getting him to smooth out the sharpt double-edge of being God’s “beloved.”.
The temptations – I think not a once and done event – were about the continuing struggle Jesus experienced after recognizing in his human heart and mind and consciousness that his identity and mission as God’s beloved might well include a crooked cross. Simply as a Jew who was familiar with his scriptures, Jesus knew what Isaiah said about “God’s beloved,” an unnamed Servant of the Lord: that he would suffer for his people.
Jesus struggled within himself about whether there might be a better, a more efficient, a less controversial way: Miracles? Magic? Smoke and mirrors?
In the wilderness – and, I suppose, throughout his life – Jesus struggled with temptations that would enable him to avoid crooked crosses.
Taunts
Even at the end. There were taunts. Three taunts. Upon reading Luke’s gospel, one might wonder whether Luke intentionally, as a rhetorical device, bookended his account of the public ministry of Jesus with three temptations at the beginning and three taunts at the end.
The leaders of the people taunted him: “He saved others; let him save himself if he is the Messiah of God, his chosen one.” The soldiers taunted him: “If you are the King of the Jews, save yourself.” And one of the criminals who were hanged there [with Jesus] kept deriding him and saying, "Are you not the Messiah? Save yourself and us!"
You will be with me
The other criminal rebuked the one who taunted Jesus … And he said, "Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom." Jesus replied, "Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise."
Crucified between criminals … as a third criminal … on a crooked cross … tempted throughout life to avoid crooked crosses, Jesus was taunted, even while on the cross, to save himself.
Perhaps with some irony, Luke records an act of salvation in a situation where the word “save” had been used in taunts and ridicule. Jesus does save someone, a dying criminal … the type of person blessed by Jesus throughout his ministry. In his dying hour, Jesus continues his ministry: “For the Son of man came to seek and to save the lost.”
You will be with me …
Just the gospel of Jesus Christ
Just this morning, I read an anecdote about preaching that I can’t resist passing on. The writer recalled settling into a pew in a big-city church in southeast Texas many years ago for the three-hour Good Friday liturgy to hear “a visiting fireman preacher who was supposed to be pretty good.” At the beginning of the parson's first meditation on the seven last words, he said, "I am not going to talk about anything controversial." There was a palpable sigh of relief throughout the congregation. Then he added, "I am just going to preach the gospel of Jesus Christ."
Hmmm. I don’t know the rest of the story. One thought does come to mind: how we’ve managed to domesticate the gospel, to smooth out its crooked crosses.
We began this week, on Palm Sunday, asking God in the prayers to assist us “to contemplate the mystery of our salvation.” The mystery: the veiled and the visible.
Despite the veil and the crooked crosses, I know that I am God’s beloved. I’ve heard Jesus say, “You will be with me.”
Beyond the veil, it is crucial to my relationship with Jesus to believe that Jesus lived his life without knowing how things were going to turn out … that he was not an actor following a script, knowing the ending.
Because Jesus was truly human, he had no more (and no less) reason to trust God than you and I do. He had the tradition. He had the scriptures. He had friends. He had contemplation and prayer.
The man on the cross between criminals trusted, in the face of evidence to the contrary, that he was God’s beloved. He trusted enough even to say to the criminal, “You, too, are God’s beloved … and will be with me.” That’s the gospel of Jesus Christ.
The Third Word ~ The Rev. T Scott Allen
"Woman here is your son...here is your mother." John 19:26-27
You know, I wish more Episcopalians published reflections and theology on the World Wide Web. That may seem like an odd first sentence for a Good Friday sermon, but in doing my research for today I "googled" key phrases and concepts around this passage from John's gospel and got screen after screen of Roman Catholic and Orthodox writings and web-sites (FINALLY on screen 15 I got a Quaker site!). Some were OK others were just sorta bizarre-you know the ones that put Mary in the Trinity as a God-like figure, or the best "Mary cured my Cat". As if being the Theotokos "The God Bearer" wasn't enough!
I always wondered out loud why Mary couldn't just be a woman who said yes to God to bear God into the world in human form? I also have little interest in debates over Mary's perpetual virginity and whether the brothers and sisters mentioned in the scriptures were fraternal siblings or extended "cousins". And Mary's assumption into heaven is problematic for me as well-I mean, to me, its far more miraculous that God took an ordinary young Jewish woman in Palestine and ask her to bear him into the world. And that eventually this faithful and special woman just died and was buried-like the rest of us (now thats a miracle in my estimation). If God can use a person like that God might be able to use me.
Perhaps because of my Baptist upbringing and misinformation given to me by my spiritual elders at the time that "Catholics worship Mary and NOT GOD!" I am given to this and my only hope is that if I have offended Jesus' mother, she and her Son will forgive me.
In the Synoptic Gospels, Mary only appears once after the nativity/childhood stories of Jesus. when further in the story, they announce her presence (and that of his brothers and sisters) to Jesus and his disciples and it is met with less than enthusiastic response from her Divine Son with "Who are my brothers and sisters?" and answered with "Whoever does the will of God is brother and sister and mother to me." And the only other mention of Mary in this, John's gospel, is at the wedding celebration in Cana, where he responds to his mother's concern about the wine running out with shortness and indifference. But lets just point out, while he snapped at her that his 'time had not come' , he did what she requested.
One can only imagine modern day family therapists having a field day about "emotional cut-offs" in the Holy Family.
So Mary's presence at the foot of the cross with the Beloved Disciple (young John) is not insignificant today. The fact that she not only appears, but is the first of the two addressed gives us a window into into the meaning of this portion of the Passion.
A traditional reading of this passage from Augustine to Aquinas has this scene as a "last will and testament" of sorts where Jesus (in an act of filial piety)1 is worried about the welfare of his Mom after his death and asks his best friend to watch over her and protect her. This is plausible, meets our needs to see Jesus as nice guy and a good son. Then there is the interpretation of Mary (as the "new" Eve) who becomes the universal mother of all those who come to new (and eternal) life in faith. This is another perfectly good and rational reading of this passage.
But the Roman Catholic biblical scholar Raymond Brown (who is the preeminent libexpert on John's gospel) in his book "Death of the Messiah" has a middle interpretation to help us unlock the significance of this scene-he says " the significance of this episode lies in the new relationship between the mother of Jesus and beloved disciple, not in symbolism attached to Mary through the history of interpretation."2
Now that I have tried to satisfy the intellects with the basis of this argument, then we need to turn to the more emotional and spiritual meaning of this scene on this day. What does it mean for us? How does it challenge our lives and our living as Christians?
Its clear that these last words spoken to observers of his death is meant to drive home a point about discipleship and the new community of disciples. And that point is that in the community of faith and indeed beyond, our mission is to see ourselves as Sons and Mothers, Daughters and Fathers, Brothers and Sisters to all we come in contact with. That is to see ourselves as disciples in a radical relatedness in the world. It breaks open the possibilities previously restricted by "blood" relationships. It makes us consider that blood is not thicker than baptismal water. Jesus is calling us all to be in a community where our relatedness is as intimate as a human family, but is based on our commitment to the Gospel and faith in Christ. In John it is so radical that one of the signs of the converted life is an irresistible attraction to community. Which challenges the modern idea which many of my friends tout "I can worship God when viewing the beauty of nature." But I think this scene in John says something quite different about the life in a process of conversion.
On the other hand, one cannot be unmoved by this scene--- a mother powerless to help her dying Son; a friend watching the person who made the only difference in his life that counted, watching him slowly slip into a torturous death by crucifixion-and again, powerless to help or comfort. On the other hand, it is the Crucified One who proclaims to both observers a new community based on discipleship and not pedigree.
It is clear that the beloved disciple (in Jesus' understanding) has begun the transformation that he came to bring and by taking in Mary, the natural and spiritual become united and integrated.
It is a lesson to us that the world has become our family. That those with whom we come in contact on a daily basis-both family and others-are potential spiritual kin. We are mother, father, sister, brother, child, daughter at different times and sometimes different roles at different times in the same day. But the head of our household is Christ who declares us part of a new relatedness to the world.
And because of this, we feel the joy of a child who has learned a new thing as if we were their own parent-and because of Christ, we are. We feel the sorrow of a father for his son who has been killed in war, whether it is our nation's loss or that of a perceived enemy. Ideologies and politics dissolve in light of the words we hear today-all people become our human family redeemed under the same cross. We are slow to anger and judge because the person across the table form us at a meeting is a brother or sister. We take the nurture of an elder because we are called to be sons and daughters as well.
If we embrace the meaning of this day we are both John and Mary. We are beloved by God and responsible for allowing God to be born into the world. We stand in an apparent powerless remembering Our Savior's torments and death. But more than that we are called to a radical relatedness as disciples of the Crucified One, to understand that because of these words "Woman here is your son....here is your mother." we are placed in a new place in how we understand our relationship to the human family. Jesus doesn't say here is your neighbor, your associate, your parishioner, your priest. NO he says here is your mother. And he doesn't say here is your friend, your colleague, your acquaintance, your fellow parishioner. NO He says here is your son.
Its counter cultural to have that kind of intimacy and vulnerability to one another, it just doesn't make sense in a world of dog eat dog and terrorism of all sorts-emotional, political, ecclesiastical and relational. But its what he declared to be. Here is your mother, here is your son. Pray that we may all receive the grace to our lives with the power of these words. Amen
1. Raymond E. Brown, The Death of the Messiah, p. 1024. The Anchor Bible Reference Library. 1994 Associated Sulpicians of the U.S.
2. Ibid.
The Fourth Word ~ The Rev Canon Jane B Teter
“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” Mark 15:34.
The story is told of German troops, who in 1942, invaded the city of Stalingrad, beginning one of the most ferocious battles of World War II. A commentator reports that within months, the German Sixth Army was “entirely cut off from help and abandoned to perish. The final plane out of the city carried seven bags of mail, and among those were the last letters written by the German soldiers who were, at that point, freezing, starving, and facing death.
One of those desperate soldiers wrote a letter home to his pastor:
.In Stalingrad, to put the question of God’s existence means to deny it….I regret my words….because they will be my last, and I won’t be able to speak any other words afterwards which might reconcile you and make up for these.
You are a pastor, Father, and in one’s last letter one says only what is true or what one believes might be true. I have searched for God in every crater, in every destroyed house, on every corner, in every friend, in my foxhole, and in the sky. God did not show Himself, even though my heart cried for Him….on earth there was hunger and murder, from the sky came bombs and fire, only God was not there. No, Father, there is no God. Again I write it and know that this is terrible and I cannot make up for it ever. And if there should be a God, He is only with you in the hymnals and prayers, in the pious sayings of the priests and pastors, in the ringing of the bells and the fragrance of incense, but not in Stalingrad.
Not in Stalingrad. Not in the furthest reaches of human despair. Not in the cry of Jesus on the cross: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” There are scholars who would claim that Jesus is merely quoting psalm 22 or fulfilling the scriptures. But I believe that Jesus is crying from the depth of human anguish. Like the soldier in Stalingrad – like many of us in our most desperate time – he is experiencing complete abandonment. What does that mean?
In her book, Christ’s Passion, Our Passions, Margaret Bullitt-Jonas says: “For one thing, a faith that believes that God will not let us suffer is not a Gospel faith. Surely the sight of Jesus enduring the deepest suffering a human being can know should burn away any fond hope that a faithful journey into God will keep us safe from hardship or distress.”.
Some of the most faithful people I know, or have known, have endured the worst suffering in their lives or the lives of their loved ones. The way to resurrection is through the experience of a pain and dying that cannot be bypassed. Your crucifixion and mine will be different. Jesus said, “Take up your cross and follow me.”
I am certain that many of you have experienced forsakenness, abandonment, terrible loneliness. Think for a minute about a time that you have felt forsaken, abandoned, alone.
Perhaps our worst fear has come true: our mother has Alzheimer’s, our son is doing drugs. Maybe we cannot pay the heating bill, or the mortgage and we are in fear of having our electricity cut off or losing our home. Maybe we never found the life partner we have always longed for; or perhaps our life is full of bitterness, envy or resentment.
Each of us, in some way or other, will learn that the only way to a new life in Christ comes through some painful moment that breaks everything apart. When we reach our Good Friday, we are confronted, as Jesus was, with the starkness of death – for in every crucifixion there is a death we need to die.
We are not here this Good Friday simply to watch Jesus die on a cross. We are here to die, also. What is it that needs to die in you and in me so that the love that sustains us at every moment can bring us to resurrected life? (pause) Maybe it is self-doubt, self-hatred that need to die, or the belief that we are not good enough, that we must earn God’s favor. Perhaps it is a relationship that needs to end or be drastically transformed.
Jesus experienced total abandonment on the cross. God the Father was with him, but God the Son did not know it. We. too, in our utter forsakenness are unaware of the presence of God. God may seem very far away. There are times when we feel we have hit rock bottom and we cry out, “Where is my God?” and only silence answers. As far as we know, we are abandoned and alone.
Yet, even in the center of apparent abandonment, God is with us. God is in the silence, in the void. God doesn’t take the void away, nor does he wipe it out. Instead, God in his compassion shares the void with us. The void is in God.
This is where trust comes in. In our worst moments, perhaps the only thing we can do is endure the situation, remembering that God is with us. Remembering Jesus words from the cross can give us hope. If we know that Christ entered and continues to enter human anguish and abandonment, then we know that our pain is not some private and meaningless crucifixion of our own. It is the crucifixion of Christ in which we share.
Grant to your people, Lord, grace to withstand the temptations of the world, the flesh, and the devil, and with pure hearts and minds to follow you, the only true God. Amen.
The Fifth Word ~ The Rev Canon Joel Atkinson
“I am thirsty.” John 19.28
How often in our lives have we been thirsty?
Reflecting upon this question meant for me
thinking about the different kinds of thirst I have experienced.
Seldom have I personally experienced the denial of the water essential for the maintenance of life.
though I’ve stood giving water and food to thirsty and dying Somali nomads
though I’ve witnessed the consequences of its absence on all sorts of plants and animal life
but never have I personally been denied the life giving properties of water.
Woe!!! I am telling a tale. When I played football in high school my coach forbid the drinking of water.
We were considered whimps if we drank water during practice.
My throat burned with thirst.
It is a wonder somebody did not die revealing the inaccuracy of his ridiculous prohibition.
Alarmingly I read of the denial of life giving waters in many places in our world:
due to our pollution of that water or
due to our failure to provide proper purification and delivery or
due to our over use of this valuable resource or
due large corporate enterprises seeking to develop a monopoly in the control of water
as a resource to increase the bottom line in their income statement.
Then the rhyme of the Ancient Mariner by Samuel David Coleridge comes to mind
when all aboard a ship at sea are either dead or is dying cause of the lack of water
ironically in spite of being surrounded by water as far as the eyes can see
“Water, water every where
but not a drop to drink.”
Water was everywhere but it contained death and not life because of the salt, which it contained.
We now know how to remove salt from waters of the sea through desalination.
I have lived in Saudi Arabia where large desalination plants
provide enormous qualities of life giving water.
The death for us is removed in this process.
In Lent the question for you and me
is how do we take the death out of the living waters of God which all surrounds
that which our lives crave if it of the proper kind?
Stated in another way,
how do we take that which denies us the life giving waters of God
from our lives so our thirst can be more fully quenched?
The answer to this question was an imperative for Jesus hanging and dying upon that terrible cross at Calvary.
Jesus hanging and dying there is as thirsty in ever way any of us could be
It is important not to deny his physicality. His body must have been afire with its denial.
Yet there is another kind of thirst he shares with us and with the Ancient Mariner.
We desire a life giving force to nurture our thirsty not merely now but forever more…
Jesus dying thirsted for the life giving waters of God to bail him out of the awful mess he was in.
He and we need a love that never, no never allows anything or anyone to stand in the way of the
life giving waters of God.
Even the judgment made on Jesus and that ugly life taking cross at Calvary did not stand in the way.
Jesus thirst, as it has been through out his life, is infinitely more than for himself
because Jesus thirsts for all of us as well.
This thirst was the meaning of his life…
A thirst for a love in which even hanging on the cross or standing at the grave
all God’s children know there is no end for them.
The deepest thirst for which Jesus suffered
was the thirst for which he’d come into the world,
a deep and unabidding need to bring creation
into a relationship from which spouts the life giving waters of God.
I thirst.
I thirst.
The Sixth Word ~ The Rev Canon Clifford B Carr
"When Jesus had received the wine, he said, “It is finished.” Then he bowed his head and gave up his spirit.” John19:30
“It is finished!” These words come as no surprise to us today. We expect to hear them, don’t we? And we can easily envision an exclamation point after the word “finished.” What does that phrase “it is finished” mean? Does it mean “over and done with?” Does it mean “it is accomplished”? What is the meaning?
“It is finished.” Indeed these words can mean, “Over with – over and done with.” Think of a frown, think of a feeling of depression – of a cause for deep trembling sadness.
We are not strangers to this feeling in our lifetimes. We all have experience with “it is finished.” A childhood friendship - - an adult relationship. Finished – over and done with.
It can happen with a job – a pink slip and we know that we are fired, laid off, out of work, dumped. Our job is finished – over and done with.
Sometimes the phrase can be used with a hobby. The ski season is over – the snow is gone and it’s time to put away the skis until next season. Or the hunting gear, the fishing rods and the garden tools. Seasons come and go, and our favorite pass-time is over and done with.
Someone sickens and dies in a hospital or nursing home – when you arrive you are met with the news: “It’s over – it’s finished. Mary has died.”
It’s happened to all of us – in these kinds of everyday situations.
But “it is finished” can also mean “it is accom- plished” – fulfilled – completed.
That calls for an exclamation point also! The job is done, the work is complete, perfected. A term paper or thesis. A book draft – a painting – a building project. This calls for a victory celebration, high-fiving the people all around. Claps on the back, perhaps even a bottle of champagne! In this case the mood of the phrase is quite different than we have been talking about. - - gone is the pessimism of “it’s over and done with.” Now there is something to be celebrated.
It is with this mood of victory and exclamation that we hear these words from the lips of Jesus. “It is finished!” His final words on earth, according to John’s Gospel are not “O shucks, it’s all over – close the books on that.” Not at all. The mood is just the opposite. When Jesus said “it is finished,” the Greek words mean “it is accomplished !!! I have done the job God gave me to do. Yes, God’s will has been done!
Paul understood this feeling as he came close to the end of his life, and wrote this in his 2nd letter to Timothy: “I have fought the good fight. I have finished the race; I have kept the faith. From now on there is reserved for me a crown of righteousness.”
Paul had finished the race God had given him to run, and this is what God wants for you and me as well: to do the work that God has given us to do while we are here on earth.
No matter how imperfect, no matter how sinful, no matter how many shortcomings we have, Jesus died to accomplish forgiveness for us. He stretched out his arms on the cross to enfold us in his saving embrace. Today’s liturgy tells us, that “by virtue of the cross, joy has come into the world.” The joy of accomplish- ment, the celebration of fullfilment. Knowing that, God wants us to feel the same way about our lives. God longs to say to each of us: “Well done, good and faithful servant – it is finished – God’s will has been accomplished through your life. You have fought the good fight, you have finished the race, you have kept the faith. A crown of glory waits for you.”
This is the work God has given us to do: to unite ourselves with the triumphant Christ and to work together with Him so that others may find life, the true life that can only come from Him who is the Way, the Truth and the Life.
In the gospel of John, written by one who was an eyewitness, standing at the very foot of the cross, we hear Jesus’ last words and the spirit of those words is triumphant, a strong finale.
It is accomplished!
The strife is o’er, the battle done,
The victory of life is won;
The song of triumph has begun.
It is finished!
The powers of death have done their worst,
But Christ their legions has dispersed;
Let shouts of holy joy outburst.
It is finished!
Amen.
The Seventh Word ~ The Ven Richard I Cluett
“Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.” Luke 23:46
Jesus was not saying anything or doing anything different here from what he had done his entire ministry. “Father, I put myself in your hands. Father, not my will but yours be done. Father, I put my self at your disposal.” Disposal, now there’s a word with multiple meanings.
But it is true to form for Jesus at this time to do that. He has run the race. He has practiced what he preached. He has walked the talk. All those platitudes have been made real and been lived out. And the final ultimate giving over to God is being accomplished on the cross.
Many of us spend much of our lives trying to keep control of our lives, attempting to wrest control of our lives from others – from parents, from employers, from the media, and from God. From our earliest days we are taught to make our own decisions, to be responsible for ourselves, to chart our own course, to control our own destinies.
“Grow up! Be a mensch, be a man!”
“I am woman. Hear me roar!”
We are reluctant to give ourselves over into the hands of any other person, being, entity, or power.
Both the prophets of old and the author of the Book of Hebrews have said, “it is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God.” Jesus didn’t think so. What do you think? What does your experience tell you?
There have been moments when I have given myself or some situation over to the hands of God – almost always as a last resort, often with a sense of frustration, maybe with the knowledge of my own impotence to do anything anyway; the very last option being commending myself into the hands of God.
Is that what was going on with Jesus? Was it the last resort? He had been at the mercy of the powers of this world for the last several hours – in the agony of their power. Did he just give up? Had he had enough and was now ready to succumb, to give up?
I don’t think so. If he had just given up, he would have simply slipped away into the merciful welcoming relief of death.
Instead, having experienced the worst that humanity has to give, having taken their best shot, having been to the depths of human frailty and human emotion… instead, he proclaims the truth that is at the core of his life and ministry, and one last time he declares, “Father into your hands I commend my spirit,” at the last asserting his control over his destiny… and that by commending himself, committing himself into the care of the Father.
Truth be told, in my own experience God has never failed to be there. Sometimes only when I have looked backward. Sometimes it has proven to be a fearsome thing to be in the hands of God, taking me where I did not want to go. Other times taking me gently to rest beside still waters. But there, always there, ever there – when I let God be there.
And truth be told, we will all, each and every one of us, come to a moment when we will be in the hands of God. We will either fall into the hands or give ourselves over into the hands of God, but either way we will be in God’s hands finally, at last, at our death.
Doesn’t it make sense to give ourselves as much time in God’s hand as possible? Doesn’t it make sense to learn about this God who, in the end, will reclaim us as God’s own. Having given us life, God will receive us at the end of it.
Right now, liturgically, we find ourselves in the silence of Jesus’ death, waiting until Sunday to know what God will do. Was it the right thing at the last to continue to trust?
We are not there yet liturgically, but we know already what happens on Sunday, early in the morning. So, yes we know it was the right thing for Jesus, and it is the right thing for us, too.
Father, help us to commend ourselves – our body and mind and spirit – into your hands. Amen.
Thursday, April 05, 2007
Maundy Thursday
The Ven. Richard I Cluett
April 5, 2007
Exodus 12:1-14a + 1 Corinthians 11:23-26 + John 13:1-15
Past, present and future all meet in John’s gospel-telling of the Last Supper. By the way, the telling goes on for quite some time, more than 4 chapters. It is one way we know that this event, this last gathering of Jesus with his closest disciples, is of immediate, ultimate and eternal importance.
It is important to remember that after Jesus time in the wilderness and the beginning of his ministry, he was always in community. He was always with… with crowds, with the 3 or 4 closest disciples, with his followers, with his friends such as Mary, Martha and Lazarus, and with the twelve and some others, and as Canon Kitch has reminded us, many of them women. He was always in community, except when on the mountain to pray. Even Jesus embodies the truth of John Donne’s phrase, “… No man is an island, entire of itself”.
On the night of his betrayal, arrest, passion and death, he had some important last things to show and tell and do for his community, for those he would leave behind. It was a night of liturgy, ritual, teaching, and demonstration – a night of last, important things.
We get different highlights of this gathering in the different gospels, but it is clear that in John’s gospel the single, signal event is Jesus washing the feet of his disciples, his companions, in a humble and humbling act of love.
Perhaps the best way to teach the disciples the meaning of his ministry, the reality of the kingdom, the true nature of discipleship, was to kneel down and wash their feet; performing the duty of a house servant; but performing it as an act of love, as a demonstration of discipleship
Father Martin Smith* has reminded me of the first time I experienced the Maundy Thursday ritual of foot washing and the extreme discomfort I experienced in receiving this act of love and care. It certainly approached the magnitude of Peter’s reaction. Apparently I have some vestigial remains of the Middle Eastern view of feet. They are not fit to be handled by others.
I was looking down at my beloved ancient rector, mentor and friend, emulating the love of Jesus. No, that’s wrong. He was the love of Jesus in that act of foot washing. The feeling finally was that of not being worthy to receive such love – his or God’s.
On the other hand I so well remember and revel in the memory of holding each of our infant children and washing every part of their bodies with a loving touch. It is one of the most profound moments of intimacy and love that I know.
Another, soothing my wife’s fevered body with cool and cleansing water, then gently toweling her dry. Again, is there is a greater word of love spoken than, “Honey, would you rub my feet. They are so tired and sore.”
It is in that spirit that Jesus rises, puts on the towel of a servant and kneels before each of his companions to clean, cool, and soothe their tired feet, even the feet of Judas.
Unconditional love… that’s what it is called. It is Jesus’ love for his companions. It was Mary’s love for Jesus when she bathed his feet. It is God’s love for you and me. And it is the love for one another that Jesus calls his disciples and us to share with one another.
Because of Jesus, we must come to terms with a God for whom it is natural to be humble, compassionate, serving, and at risk out of love for others. And we are called by Jesus to take his nature upon ourselves.
And so as mark of our nature, I invite you to humble yourself to receive an act of love as some one bathes and refreshes your feet and to offer that act of love to another.
We will then go to the table to participate in the supper that unites us with Jesus and with all believers throughout eternity as we share the bread and the cup.
I pray that thereby we will be empowered to bring his love and his servanthood to a suffering world and a divided church and to those who have not experienced his love and to those who know him not.
*The Seasons of the Spirit by Martin L Smith, Church Publishing, 2004
April 5, 2007
Exodus 12:1-14a + 1 Corinthians 11:23-26 + John 13:1-15
Past, present and future all meet in John’s gospel-telling of the Last Supper. By the way, the telling goes on for quite some time, more than 4 chapters. It is one way we know that this event, this last gathering of Jesus with his closest disciples, is of immediate, ultimate and eternal importance.
It is important to remember that after Jesus time in the wilderness and the beginning of his ministry, he was always in community. He was always with… with crowds, with the 3 or 4 closest disciples, with his followers, with his friends such as Mary, Martha and Lazarus, and with the twelve and some others, and as Canon Kitch has reminded us, many of them women. He was always in community, except when on the mountain to pray. Even Jesus embodies the truth of John Donne’s phrase, “… No man is an island, entire of itself”.
On the night of his betrayal, arrest, passion and death, he had some important last things to show and tell and do for his community, for those he would leave behind. It was a night of liturgy, ritual, teaching, and demonstration – a night of last, important things.
We get different highlights of this gathering in the different gospels, but it is clear that in John’s gospel the single, signal event is Jesus washing the feet of his disciples, his companions, in a humble and humbling act of love.
Perhaps the best way to teach the disciples the meaning of his ministry, the reality of the kingdom, the true nature of discipleship, was to kneel down and wash their feet; performing the duty of a house servant; but performing it as an act of love, as a demonstration of discipleship
Father Martin Smith* has reminded me of the first time I experienced the Maundy Thursday ritual of foot washing and the extreme discomfort I experienced in receiving this act of love and care. It certainly approached the magnitude of Peter’s reaction. Apparently I have some vestigial remains of the Middle Eastern view of feet. They are not fit to be handled by others.
I was looking down at my beloved ancient rector, mentor and friend, emulating the love of Jesus. No, that’s wrong. He was the love of Jesus in that act of foot washing. The feeling finally was that of not being worthy to receive such love – his or God’s.
On the other hand I so well remember and revel in the memory of holding each of our infant children and washing every part of their bodies with a loving touch. It is one of the most profound moments of intimacy and love that I know.
Another, soothing my wife’s fevered body with cool and cleansing water, then gently toweling her dry. Again, is there is a greater word of love spoken than, “Honey, would you rub my feet. They are so tired and sore.”
It is in that spirit that Jesus rises, puts on the towel of a servant and kneels before each of his companions to clean, cool, and soothe their tired feet, even the feet of Judas.
Unconditional love… that’s what it is called. It is Jesus’ love for his companions. It was Mary’s love for Jesus when she bathed his feet. It is God’s love for you and me. And it is the love for one another that Jesus calls his disciples and us to share with one another.
Because of Jesus, we must come to terms with a God for whom it is natural to be humble, compassionate, serving, and at risk out of love for others. And we are called by Jesus to take his nature upon ourselves.
And so as mark of our nature, I invite you to humble yourself to receive an act of love as some one bathes and refreshes your feet and to offer that act of love to another.
We will then go to the table to participate in the supper that unites us with Jesus and with all believers throughout eternity as we share the bread and the cup.
I pray that thereby we will be empowered to bring his love and his servanthood to a suffering world and a divided church and to those who have not experienced his love and to those who know him not.
*The Seasons of the Spirit by Martin L Smith, Church Publishing, 2004
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