This Holy Week, Water Daily will look at the readings appointed for each day and reflect from the perspective of someone on the fringes of the story. We too are on the fringes of this story – and are invited to come into its heart this week. May these holy men and women draw us closer. Here is today's Gospel reading.
Philip: People always wanted to see Jesus; what was so different about these Greeks, that their appearing should cause Jesus such sadness?
I wasn’t even sure I should bother him when they approached me. I mean, a LOT of people wanted to see Jesus – not all of them friendly – and he seemed tense and tired. So I checked in with Andrew, who's closer to the inner circle than I. Together we went to Jesus. And his response surprised me. “The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified,” he said. I wasn’t sure what that meant but then he looked at us with what looked like resignation, and added, “I tell you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.”
I couldn't pretend not to know what was talking about – the rumors of plots against him have been flying for weeks now. It got a lot worse after the Lazarus business. The leadership is not happy with Jesus’ popularity, or his miracles. And now even Greeks in Jerusalem for Passover want to see him? This is not going to be good.
Or is it “good” in a much bigger picture? Jesus keeps hinting at a mission broader than we can imagine, that God is up to something huge. Could something good be accomplished by the death of one so amazing as Jesus? Whom I, we, believe to be the Anointed One, the Messiah himself? What kind of fruit might he bear if he dies, like a grain of wheat?
Is he talking about us too? Are we all called to be those grains of wheat, broken open so the life of God can break out?
“Whoever serves me must follow me,” he said. “And where I am, there will my servant be also.” Well, I am his servant. I can think of no greater purpose for my life than to serve Jesus. I will stay as close to him this week as I can, and hope against hope he’s just speaking in metaphors…
How about us? Are we willing to stay close to Jesus this week? What do we find most unsettling about the whole story of Holy Week? Is there a part you routinely want to avoid? Why do you suppose that is?
I pray that we might walk closely with Jesus this week, allowing him to be real in our lives - not the suffering crucified one, but the risen Lord of heaven and earth, bearing abundant fruit through us.
3-29-15 - Lazarus of Bethany
This week Water Daily will look at the readings appointed for each day (here is today's...) and reflect from the perspective of one the people on the fringes of the story. We too are on the fringes of this story – and we are invited to come into its heart this week. May these holy men and women draw us closer.
Lazarus: So, they want to kill me – I, who have already tasted death. More than tasted – spent four days in that place where there is no light. Came back to myself in a cold, dark, rancid place; came back to myself at the sound of his voice calling me. Stumbled toward the light beyond the rock they’d just moved to let me out, not sure where I was, or who.
If I hadn’t seen the power and love in this man who became my friend, I might say Jesus was the worst thing that could have happened to my family. His visits caused my sisters to squabble, his friendship drew unwanted attention. But I can say with my whole heart that meeting Jesus was the best thing that ever happened to us. He drew out the gentleness in Martha, who so often uses her intelligence and competence to control events and other people. And I’ve seen our sister Mary show a new boldness and courage since coming to know Jesus.
Like tonight, at dinner at our house – when she took a whole jar of nard that must have cost her the earth, and anointed Jesus’ feet with it. Just got on her knees and anointed him and then wiped his feet with her hair. It was extraordinary, and unsettling. Didn’t make his disciples happy – don’t know if it was the extravagance or the intimacy that bothered them most. But Jesus defended her, talking about her having “bought it for the day of my burial.” He knew the end of this life was coming soon; I wonder if he knew how ghastly that end would be? Did he fear it? The suffering? The dying? Did he know what would come next – really know? Or did he have to walk by faith, like all of us?
And now, because so many have come to believe in Jesus because he raised me, they want to kill me. The symbol. The forerunner. You know what? They don’t scare me. Death no longer scares me. Like my sisters, I believe Jesus is who he says he is, the Anointed of God, the Messiah we’ve been awaiting. And I know that the next time I leave this life, it won’t be to the place of complete darkness. For he will be with me, the Light of the World will illumine even that darkness and make it holy.
I just wish he didn’t have to pass through the darkness himself first…
What in Lazarus’ story – or Martha’s, or Mary’s – brings up a story in you? A story of new life returning from dead places? A story of hospitality and service? A story of extravagant sacrifice to honor Jesus or your faith? Where do you find yourself near Jesus today? What is your prayer?
Lazarus: So, they want to kill me – I, who have already tasted death. More than tasted – spent four days in that place where there is no light. Came back to myself in a cold, dark, rancid place; came back to myself at the sound of his voice calling me. Stumbled toward the light beyond the rock they’d just moved to let me out, not sure where I was, or who.
If I hadn’t seen the power and love in this man who became my friend, I might say Jesus was the worst thing that could have happened to my family. His visits caused my sisters to squabble, his friendship drew unwanted attention. But I can say with my whole heart that meeting Jesus was the best thing that ever happened to us. He drew out the gentleness in Martha, who so often uses her intelligence and competence to control events and other people. And I’ve seen our sister Mary show a new boldness and courage since coming to know Jesus.
Like tonight, at dinner at our house – when she took a whole jar of nard that must have cost her the earth, and anointed Jesus’ feet with it. Just got on her knees and anointed him and then wiped his feet with her hair. It was extraordinary, and unsettling. Didn’t make his disciples happy – don’t know if it was the extravagance or the intimacy that bothered them most. But Jesus defended her, talking about her having “bought it for the day of my burial.” He knew the end of this life was coming soon; I wonder if he knew how ghastly that end would be? Did he fear it? The suffering? The dying? Did he know what would come next – really know? Or did he have to walk by faith, like all of us?
And now, because so many have come to believe in Jesus because he raised me, they want to kill me. The symbol. The forerunner. You know what? They don’t scare me. Death no longer scares me. Like my sisters, I believe Jesus is who he says he is, the Anointed of God, the Messiah we’ve been awaiting. And I know that the next time I leave this life, it won’t be to the place of complete darkness. For he will be with me, the Light of the World will illumine even that darkness and make it holy.
I just wish he didn’t have to pass through the darkness himself first…
What in Lazarus’ story – or Martha’s, or Mary’s – brings up a story in you? A story of new life returning from dead places? A story of hospitality and service? A story of extravagant sacrifice to honor Jesus or your faith? Where do you find yourself near Jesus today? What is your prayer?
3-27-15 - Already Late
What must it have been like for Jesus coming into Jerusalem that day? Knowing this was the last time he would enter this city, where holiness and violence, yearning for God and insistence on human power mingled so potently? “Bittersweet” is too mild to convey the feelings that must have jostled within him. In another passage, we learn that he wept over Jerusalem with its legacy of conflict. Maybe he was also weeping for his own coming loss.
He did not remain long in the city after his triumphal entry. Mark tells us,
“Then he entered Jerusalem and went into the temple; and when he had looked around at everything, as it was already late, he went out to Bethany with the twelve.”
What a poignant phrase, “already late.” It was late in the day, yes. Also late in the game for the cheering crowds to come his way; the events that would lead to his suffering and death were already in motion. And while I think the doctrine of free will requires us to believe that Judas could have refused to betray him, Pilate refuse to condemn him, even his persecutors stop and choose another way to deal with the threat he represented – it was unlikely that this story could turn out another way.
Especially not if we bear in mind that Jesus’ chief adversary was not the people around him, but the personified force of evil choking the life out of this world and its creatures. That fight had to be fought, and this was the way Jesus was going to take on that enemy and his ultimate weapon, death.
So Jesus did not linger in Jerusalem that evening, but returned with his inner circle of disciples to Bethany, the town where Lazarus, Martha and Mary lived. Was that the night Mary anointed his feet with a whole jar of expensive perfume? Was that the night Judas made the decision to betray him? It was one of Jesus’ last nights on earth as a human being, with those whom he had come to love. I hope it was a night among friends, with good food and laughter enough to push the dread and anxiety to the corners of his mind. Time enough to return to Jerusalem in the daylight and engage his final days.
It is “already late” for us as well, as Lent draws to a close and we prepare to enter the drama of Holy Week. Maybe we too should rest in Bethany for a little while – take some time for family and ordinary chores, get together with friends, prepare for our walk to the cross with Jesus by not thinking too hard. I know that’s what I need this weekend, to recharge my batteries and reconnect with God and myself.
I hope you will do some resting and preparing – and then take seriously the offers of Holy Week to fully experience this story, and your community of faith. (And if you’re close to Stamford and don’t have a faith community, here’s our line-up at Christ the Healer – we’re always up to something creative!)
Yes, you’ve heard this story before, no doubt. But it manages to reveal new gifts to us each year. As late as it may be, God’s love is never too late to overwhelm us.
That is my Holy Week prayer for you.
He did not remain long in the city after his triumphal entry. Mark tells us,
“Then he entered Jerusalem and went into the temple; and when he had looked around at everything, as it was already late, he went out to Bethany with the twelve.”
What a poignant phrase, “already late.” It was late in the day, yes. Also late in the game for the cheering crowds to come his way; the events that would lead to his suffering and death were already in motion. And while I think the doctrine of free will requires us to believe that Judas could have refused to betray him, Pilate refuse to condemn him, even his persecutors stop and choose another way to deal with the threat he represented – it was unlikely that this story could turn out another way.
Especially not if we bear in mind that Jesus’ chief adversary was not the people around him, but the personified force of evil choking the life out of this world and its creatures. That fight had to be fought, and this was the way Jesus was going to take on that enemy and his ultimate weapon, death.
So Jesus did not linger in Jerusalem that evening, but returned with his inner circle of disciples to Bethany, the town where Lazarus, Martha and Mary lived. Was that the night Mary anointed his feet with a whole jar of expensive perfume? Was that the night Judas made the decision to betray him? It was one of Jesus’ last nights on earth as a human being, with those whom he had come to love. I hope it was a night among friends, with good food and laughter enough to push the dread and anxiety to the corners of his mind. Time enough to return to Jerusalem in the daylight and engage his final days.
It is “already late” for us as well, as Lent draws to a close and we prepare to enter the drama of Holy Week. Maybe we too should rest in Bethany for a little while – take some time for family and ordinary chores, get together with friends, prepare for our walk to the cross with Jesus by not thinking too hard. I know that’s what I need this weekend, to recharge my batteries and reconnect with God and myself.
I hope you will do some resting and preparing – and then take seriously the offers of Holy Week to fully experience this story, and your community of faith. (And if you’re close to Stamford and don’t have a faith community, here’s our line-up at Christ the Healer – we’re always up to something creative!)
Yes, you’ve heard this story before, no doubt. But it manages to reveal new gifts to us each year. As late as it may be, God’s love is never too late to overwhelm us.
That is my Holy Week prayer for you.
3-26-15 - Hosanna!
If we only heard about the crowd spreading their cloaks and palm branches before Jesus as he rode into Jerusalem, we might wonder why the adulation. But when we bring in the audio, it becomes clearer:
“Then those who went ahead and those who followed were shouting, ‘Hosanna!
Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!
Blessed is the coming kingdom of our ancestor David! Hosanna in the highest heaven!’”
Jesus was being given a conqueror’s welcome before he’d conquered anything. Those who shouted “Hosannas” must have been convinced that he was more than a brilliant teacher, a holy man, a miracle-worker – he was the Son of David. Usually in the gospels we see Jesus’ Messianic identity affirmed by those on the margins of society – the diseased, the sinful, the demonic. In the story just before this one, it is a blind beggar, Bartimaeus, who shouts, “Jesus! Son of David! Have mercy on me.” Now, it appears, there has been a tipping point and the general populace has taken up the cry. “Blessed is the coming kingdom of our ancestor David!”
Jesus never argued against the Davidic title – but he also never talked about the restoration of a royal line or an earthly kingdom as he proclaimed the Good News. He insisted that God’s coming kingdom was Good News for the poor and the lame, the blind and the deaf, the despairing and the destitute. Yet somehow that wider focus was narrowed by the crowd dancing alongside him; the “coming kingdom of our ancestor David” suggests a restoration of past glory, victory over the hated Romans, freedom for Israel.
That was something Jesus never promised. He proclaimed freedom for humanity from the greater oppression of sin and death, leading to justice for all. But who wants to worry about sin and death when you’re being oppressed by a cruel and corrupt regime? Can we blame the crowds for writing the script they wanted Jesus to live out, ignoring his own predictions about the script his Father had provided?
Their fervor here helps make sense of the sudden reversal to condemnation a few days later, as they see their hero arrested, held, beaten, mocked – and not lifting a finger to defend himself. Where was all his power which had been on such glorious display for three years? If he wasn't able to save himself, how was he to save them? Was this Jesus another fraud like all the rest, his promises empty, his miracles con games? If political and military restoration was what they wanted, no wonder they were so bitterly disappointed.
Are there things we’ve wanted from Jesus, from this “Christian thing,” that we have not received? Are we holding back on giving ourselves more fully to relationship with God in Christ because we’ve been disappointed? Those are good things to surface and to talk to Jesus about in prayer. How do we feel about the promises we believe God has made? And what promises have we made to God?
Sometimes our “hosannas” are just phrases we mumble by rote. If we can be honest before God about our hopes and disappointments, and ask Jesus to truly reveal himself, there is a much greater chance that our “Hosannas” will be heartfelt and authentic outpourings of praise and love.
“Then those who went ahead and those who followed were shouting, ‘Hosanna!
Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!
Blessed is the coming kingdom of our ancestor David! Hosanna in the highest heaven!’”
Jesus was being given a conqueror’s welcome before he’d conquered anything. Those who shouted “Hosannas” must have been convinced that he was more than a brilliant teacher, a holy man, a miracle-worker – he was the Son of David. Usually in the gospels we see Jesus’ Messianic identity affirmed by those on the margins of society – the diseased, the sinful, the demonic. In the story just before this one, it is a blind beggar, Bartimaeus, who shouts, “Jesus! Son of David! Have mercy on me.” Now, it appears, there has been a tipping point and the general populace has taken up the cry. “Blessed is the coming kingdom of our ancestor David!”
Jesus never argued against the Davidic title – but he also never talked about the restoration of a royal line or an earthly kingdom as he proclaimed the Good News. He insisted that God’s coming kingdom was Good News for the poor and the lame, the blind and the deaf, the despairing and the destitute. Yet somehow that wider focus was narrowed by the crowd dancing alongside him; the “coming kingdom of our ancestor David” suggests a restoration of past glory, victory over the hated Romans, freedom for Israel.
That was something Jesus never promised. He proclaimed freedom for humanity from the greater oppression of sin and death, leading to justice for all. But who wants to worry about sin and death when you’re being oppressed by a cruel and corrupt regime? Can we blame the crowds for writing the script they wanted Jesus to live out, ignoring his own predictions about the script his Father had provided?
Their fervor here helps make sense of the sudden reversal to condemnation a few days later, as they see their hero arrested, held, beaten, mocked – and not lifting a finger to defend himself. Where was all his power which had been on such glorious display for three years? If he wasn't able to save himself, how was he to save them? Was this Jesus another fraud like all the rest, his promises empty, his miracles con games? If political and military restoration was what they wanted, no wonder they were so bitterly disappointed.
Are there things we’ve wanted from Jesus, from this “Christian thing,” that we have not received? Are we holding back on giving ourselves more fully to relationship with God in Christ because we’ve been disappointed? Those are good things to surface and to talk to Jesus about in prayer. How do we feel about the promises we believe God has made? And what promises have we made to God?
Sometimes our “hosannas” are just phrases we mumble by rote. If we can be honest before God about our hopes and disappointments, and ask Jesus to truly reveal himself, there is a much greater chance that our “Hosannas” will be heartfelt and authentic outpourings of praise and love.
3-25-15 - Covering the Road
We ought to call it “Leafy Branch Sunday” or “Cloak Sunday,” for there is no mention of palms. And those leafy branches weren’t being waved around – people were placing them on the road before the colt that carried Jesus through the streets. People even put their cloaks on the colt, and on the road the colt would walk on. So revered was Jesus in this moment, people didn’t even want the hooves of the beast on which he rode to touch the ground:
“Then they brought the colt to Jesus and threw their cloaks on it; and he sat on it. Many people spread their cloaks on the road, and others spread leafy branches that they had cut in the fields.”
In just a few days, we will see this same man whose feet were too holy to touch the ground walking these streets, bloodied and bruised, ground into the mud by the weight of the cross beam he must now carry. How did the people go from excessive reverence to contempt in such a short time?
The human success of Jesus’ earthly ministry reaches its apotheosis in the Palm Sunday story. And maybe the very over-the-top frenzy of adulation directed toward Jesus helped to fuel the degradation he endured later that week. We do like to put people on pedestals, and then watch them topple down.
But Jesus wasn't here for human success. He had his heart and mind set on a victory that would be impossible to explain to those who knew him best. I can only imagine how dislocating this event must have been for him.
It’s hard to know where to place ourselves in this story, especially in worship on Palm Sunday, when we make this transition from “Hosanna!” to “Crucify him!” in a matter of minutes, not days. Each year, we might find ourselves in a different place in the story, and in a different relationship to the man at its center.
I wish I could meet this Jesus for the first time. I wish I could feel the zeal and the love I’ve seen in people who have more recently come to know him. Even in my own prayer life, my experience of Jesus is domesticated and muted. He is too familiar – and not well enough known – to engage my feelings the way I wish.
How might I experience the reverence of those who spread their cloaks on the road? I don’t think Episcopal fussiness about what we do with the consecrated wine counts. I believe we need to get back in touch with the God-ness of this man who came to make God knowable. It’s a hard balance to find. Jesus didn’t want to be on a pedestal, or on the back of a colt. I believe he wants us to have tea with him in the ordinariness of our lives. And yet, this one who invites us to make ourselves known intimately to him, to speak the desires of our heart and confess our blemishes, is God!
I will begin by adding back some reverence into my spiritual practice – the consecrating of the time, the lighting of the candle, the closing of the Ipad (which is hard if that’s where you’re reading the daily office…), the focus on gratitude.
Jesus doesn’t need our hosannas, I don’t think, but I do believe he wants us to be real, "uncloaked," if you will. Maybe laying our cloaks on the road before him is a way of letting him know us fully, as we truly are.
“Then they brought the colt to Jesus and threw their cloaks on it; and he sat on it. Many people spread their cloaks on the road, and others spread leafy branches that they had cut in the fields.”
In just a few days, we will see this same man whose feet were too holy to touch the ground walking these streets, bloodied and bruised, ground into the mud by the weight of the cross beam he must now carry. How did the people go from excessive reverence to contempt in such a short time?
The human success of Jesus’ earthly ministry reaches its apotheosis in the Palm Sunday story. And maybe the very over-the-top frenzy of adulation directed toward Jesus helped to fuel the degradation he endured later that week. We do like to put people on pedestals, and then watch them topple down.
But Jesus wasn't here for human success. He had his heart and mind set on a victory that would be impossible to explain to those who knew him best. I can only imagine how dislocating this event must have been for him.
It’s hard to know where to place ourselves in this story, especially in worship on Palm Sunday, when we make this transition from “Hosanna!” to “Crucify him!” in a matter of minutes, not days. Each year, we might find ourselves in a different place in the story, and in a different relationship to the man at its center.
I wish I could meet this Jesus for the first time. I wish I could feel the zeal and the love I’ve seen in people who have more recently come to know him. Even in my own prayer life, my experience of Jesus is domesticated and muted. He is too familiar – and not well enough known – to engage my feelings the way I wish.
How might I experience the reverence of those who spread their cloaks on the road? I don’t think Episcopal fussiness about what we do with the consecrated wine counts. I believe we need to get back in touch with the God-ness of this man who came to make God knowable. It’s a hard balance to find. Jesus didn’t want to be on a pedestal, or on the back of a colt. I believe he wants us to have tea with him in the ordinariness of our lives. And yet, this one who invites us to make ourselves known intimately to him, to speak the desires of our heart and confess our blemishes, is God!
I will begin by adding back some reverence into my spiritual practice – the consecrating of the time, the lighting of the candle, the closing of the Ipad (which is hard if that’s where you’re reading the daily office…), the focus on gratitude.
Jesus doesn’t need our hosannas, I don’t think, but I do believe he wants us to be real, "uncloaked," if you will. Maybe laying our cloaks on the road before him is a way of letting him know us fully, as we truly are.
3-24-15 - Why Are You Doing This?
The Palm Sunday story begins with cryptic message. Jesus sends two of his followers to a village on the road ahead, and gives them instructions worthy of Mission Impossible:
When they were approaching Jerusalem, at Bethphage and Bethany, near the Mount of Olives, he sent two of his disciples and said to them, ‘Go into the village ahead of you, and immediately as you enter it, you will find tied there a colt that has never been ridden; untie it and bring it. If anyone says to you, “Why are you doing this?” just say this, “The Lord needs it and will send it back here immediately.”
How Jesus knows this colt will be there, we are not told. But it likely didn’t take clairvoyance to know that the colt’s owners might raise objections to total strangers coming along, untying and leading it away. Jesus anticipated the probable question, “Why are you doing this?” and provided an answer he thought would satisfy the questioners.
Has anyone ever asked you that question regarding your commitment to Jesus and/or his church? “Why do you spend so much time at that church?” “Why do give money to that church?” “Why do you go to Bible study?” “Why would you pray for healing? It doesn’t work, you know.”
We are part of a profoundly counter-cultural enterprise. It was so when Jesus first came on the scene and remained so through the early centuries of the church. To allocate time, money, emotions, resources to this odd sect with its strange forms of worship and bizarre truth claims about a crucified and risen Lord, who was fully human and fully God, a triune God, yet; and one who allows terrible things to happen to those he loves… it could be hard to defend. Add in periods of persecution, when being part of the Christian movement could imperil your life, livelihood and loved ones… it was a reasonable question: “Why are you doing this?”
Then came many centuries, right up to the 20th, when Christendom was the dominant religious tradition in many parts of the world, and that question grew more muted – as did the commitment to the radical Gospel Jesus exemplified. But now we live in a post-Christendom age, at least in America and Europe. No one has to be part of a church, and not many are looking to be. Millions have no frame of reference at all when it comes to religious affiliation, and Christian commitment competes with many other claims on people’s time, money and allegiances (all too often true even among church-goers!) There are many people asking, “Why are you doing this,” if they notice what we’re doing at all.
It’s a question to which I believe we should each have an answer at the ready. We can use part of the answer the disciples picking up the colt were to give: “The Lord has need of me.” No one can argue with that, and some might even want to know more about this “Lord” who successfully makes claims on your time.
You might even ask yourself that question – and invite the Holy Spirit to be part of the answer. Ask God, “What need do you have of me?” While I believe our existence is a delight to God, far more than our utility, let’s put the question to God and see how the answer comes to us. It might point us in a whole new direction.
Wherever it takes us, be assured that God already knows the route, as surely as Jesus knew that colt would be tied up in that village ahead on the road. The instructions may still be cryptic at times, but God will provide what we need as we participate in God’s mission of making all things whole, colts, answers and all.
When they were approaching Jerusalem, at Bethphage and Bethany, near the Mount of Olives, he sent two of his disciples and said to them, ‘Go into the village ahead of you, and immediately as you enter it, you will find tied there a colt that has never been ridden; untie it and bring it. If anyone says to you, “Why are you doing this?” just say this, “The Lord needs it and will send it back here immediately.”
How Jesus knows this colt will be there, we are not told. But it likely didn’t take clairvoyance to know that the colt’s owners might raise objections to total strangers coming along, untying and leading it away. Jesus anticipated the probable question, “Why are you doing this?” and provided an answer he thought would satisfy the questioners.
Has anyone ever asked you that question regarding your commitment to Jesus and/or his church? “Why do you spend so much time at that church?” “Why do give money to that church?” “Why do you go to Bible study?” “Why would you pray for healing? It doesn’t work, you know.”
We are part of a profoundly counter-cultural enterprise. It was so when Jesus first came on the scene and remained so through the early centuries of the church. To allocate time, money, emotions, resources to this odd sect with its strange forms of worship and bizarre truth claims about a crucified and risen Lord, who was fully human and fully God, a triune God, yet; and one who allows terrible things to happen to those he loves… it could be hard to defend. Add in periods of persecution, when being part of the Christian movement could imperil your life, livelihood and loved ones… it was a reasonable question: “Why are you doing this?”
Then came many centuries, right up to the 20th, when Christendom was the dominant religious tradition in many parts of the world, and that question grew more muted – as did the commitment to the radical Gospel Jesus exemplified. But now we live in a post-Christendom age, at least in America and Europe. No one has to be part of a church, and not many are looking to be. Millions have no frame of reference at all when it comes to religious affiliation, and Christian commitment competes with many other claims on people’s time, money and allegiances (all too often true even among church-goers!) There are many people asking, “Why are you doing this,” if they notice what we’re doing at all.
It’s a question to which I believe we should each have an answer at the ready. We can use part of the answer the disciples picking up the colt were to give: “The Lord has need of me.” No one can argue with that, and some might even want to know more about this “Lord” who successfully makes claims on your time.
You might even ask yourself that question – and invite the Holy Spirit to be part of the answer. Ask God, “What need do you have of me?” While I believe our existence is a delight to God, far more than our utility, let’s put the question to God and see how the answer comes to us. It might point us in a whole new direction.
Wherever it takes us, be assured that God already knows the route, as surely as Jesus knew that colt would be tied up in that village ahead on the road. The instructions may still be cryptic at times, but God will provide what we need as we participate in God’s mission of making all things whole, colts, answers and all.
3-23-15 - Approaching Jerusalem
Jesus has performed his last healing, at least as Mark tells the story of his life and death. He healed blind Bartimaeus outside Jericho, and now he is approaching Jerusalem.
Jerusalem, named for peace but so often the site of religious violence and bloodshed. Jerusalem, where he is to face violence and bloodshed – his own blood poured out for the sake of God’s mission to restore creation to wholeness. He has told his disciples yet again what he faces in Jerusalem, and once again they have squabbled, unable to take in the magnitude of his words. From this point on Jesus does no more healing or soothing. He faces down his accusers, cleanses the temple of corrupt influences and tells pointed stories. And moves inexorably toward his passion and death.
In our church year we are approaching Jerusalem ourselves, closing in on Holy Week. For those who draw near, “close enough to smell the blood,” as one preacher I knew used to say, it is a time of discomfort and disjunction as we hover near the mystery of such a life, such a death, and such life emerging from such death. Death and Life are inextricably linked in this passion and resurrection story of ours.
And who are we kidding? Death and life are inextricably linked in our own lives and our world as well: the natural world around us with its seasons and evolutions and swift brutality; the social worlds around us with all their violence and conflict... and sometimes peace emerging through it all. Even in our own bodies, life and death compete, as the process of dying cells gradually gains on the generative impulse toward life, until the system runs down for good. Life and death are always joined, but it is human nature to focus on life while we are in it, glancing at death only when we are forced to do so.
So Holy Week is a weird time for those who take their Christian commitment seriously. We voluntarily drop many activities and focus our attention on the maltreatment and murder of a man of pure wholeness, complete integrity. Who wants to do that? If we allow the horror to penetrate us it can leave us unsettled, even frightened. I spoke to a child today who came to church last Good Friday during the Stations of the Cross; as she put it, "It freaked me out." She can handle it, in the safety of a loving family and church community, but it’s a lot to take in, no matter what age. It freaks us all out, if we're paying attention.
So we tiptoe up to it. It’s still a week away; but the Gospel we focus on this week is the one for Palm Sunday, when we begin to face that walk to the Cross in earnest. Let’s take this week to prepare ourselves, which really just means to open our spirits to the drama and the trauma, the horror and the overwhelming love. Let’s ask God where in our lives we are called to live this story, and to make it known.
In our lives as Christ followers we are always approaching Jerusalem, that place where our ministry comes into sharpest focus, where God desires to make the world whole through us. We believe Christ accomplished that once and for all on the cross, yet somehow that redemption needs to be made real through us, one person at a time.
For Jesus, it was the cross. What ministry is it for us, on this side of Calvary and Easter? What work of redemption does God want to complete through you?
Jerusalem, named for peace but so often the site of religious violence and bloodshed. Jerusalem, where he is to face violence and bloodshed – his own blood poured out for the sake of God’s mission to restore creation to wholeness. He has told his disciples yet again what he faces in Jerusalem, and once again they have squabbled, unable to take in the magnitude of his words. From this point on Jesus does no more healing or soothing. He faces down his accusers, cleanses the temple of corrupt influences and tells pointed stories. And moves inexorably toward his passion and death.
In our church year we are approaching Jerusalem ourselves, closing in on Holy Week. For those who draw near, “close enough to smell the blood,” as one preacher I knew used to say, it is a time of discomfort and disjunction as we hover near the mystery of such a life, such a death, and such life emerging from such death. Death and Life are inextricably linked in this passion and resurrection story of ours.
And who are we kidding? Death and life are inextricably linked in our own lives and our world as well: the natural world around us with its seasons and evolutions and swift brutality; the social worlds around us with all their violence and conflict... and sometimes peace emerging through it all. Even in our own bodies, life and death compete, as the process of dying cells gradually gains on the generative impulse toward life, until the system runs down for good. Life and death are always joined, but it is human nature to focus on life while we are in it, glancing at death only when we are forced to do so.
So Holy Week is a weird time for those who take their Christian commitment seriously. We voluntarily drop many activities and focus our attention on the maltreatment and murder of a man of pure wholeness, complete integrity. Who wants to do that? If we allow the horror to penetrate us it can leave us unsettled, even frightened. I spoke to a child today who came to church last Good Friday during the Stations of the Cross; as she put it, "It freaked me out." She can handle it, in the safety of a loving family and church community, but it’s a lot to take in, no matter what age. It freaks us all out, if we're paying attention.
So we tiptoe up to it. It’s still a week away; but the Gospel we focus on this week is the one for Palm Sunday, when we begin to face that walk to the Cross in earnest. Let’s take this week to prepare ourselves, which really just means to open our spirits to the drama and the trauma, the horror and the overwhelming love. Let’s ask God where in our lives we are called to live this story, and to make it known.
In our lives as Christ followers we are always approaching Jerusalem, that place where our ministry comes into sharpest focus, where God desires to make the world whole through us. We believe Christ accomplished that once and for all on the cross, yet somehow that redemption needs to be made real through us, one person at a time.
For Jesus, it was the cross. What ministry is it for us, on this side of Calvary and Easter? What work of redemption does God want to complete through you?
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