Preparing for Holy Week and Beyond

 It's the Saturday before Holy Week, the most sacred yet busiest time of the church year. Churches are open for services almost every day, if not daily. The week builds up to the Paschal Triduum of Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and the Easter Vigil. However, before all this takes place, there is Palm Sunday (the Sunday of the Passion). 

In the Episcopal Church, preparation for Palm Sunday means more work than just the usual cleaning of the church and setting up the altar and elements. There are palm crosses to be made by the dozen, each one composed of a strip of palm leaf carefully folded, twisted, wrapped, and tucked so that it holds the shape of a cross. New volunteers learn how to make the crosses each year, taught by those who have performed the act for years and sometimes decades. There should be an abundance of palm crosses, one for each person or family, that can be taken home and saved until the following year before Ash Wednesday. 

Palm Sunday is also called Palm/Passion Sunday because the usual gospel reading is frequently done with congregation members reading various lines spoken by the characters present in the various parts of the story. The story begins with Jesus riding into Jerusalem and works its way through the Holy Week stories of the Last Supper, Gethsemane, the arrest and trial of Jesus, his death, and burial featured in the services of the Triduum before the Easter Vigil itself.

The story of the Passion of Jesus is read on Palm Sunday as well as during Holy Week so that those who cannot participate in the weekday services, often held in the evening, can hear the story that precedes Easter Sunday. The Triduum climaxes with the Easter Vigil, a pre-Easter celebration that features passages of scripture that trace what is known as salvation history, beginning in Genesis, the story of the exodus, followed by prophetic messages found in the Hebrew Bible. 

Recently there has been controversy in the church about the reading of the Passion narrative. The translations of the gospels have an anti-semitic message that has become uncomfortable for congregants and clergy alike. The trial of Jesus, from the accusation to the scourging and ridicule he endured, lays blame on "the Jews," as if the entire Jewish nation called for his death. Many people still have not learned that Jesus was Jewish, as were his disciples and followers. Centuries of these translations have led to the belief that the Jews were responsible for the death of Jesus and the hatred of Jews because of this. 

When disaster strikes, a beloved leader is assassinated, a country is overrun, or churches battle each other, people want to have someone or some group to blame. The Jews, considered outsiders by Christian believers, served as the scapegoat for the crucifixion. Granted, some Jewish leaders at the time were very active in trying to silence Jesus for blasphemy. Because the example of his life and teachings went contrary to those of the temple, the powerful felt threatened, and so Jesus had to be removed. 

The memory of the Holocaust is still very much with us. With the drive for racial, cultural, and religious equality, it has become essential to attempt to view history with a more diverse eye. Just as we in America are trying to come to terms with the sins of slavery our ancestors have perpetrated on Africans, we also have to confront the wrongs we have done to our Native Americans, Oriental Americans, and Hispanics. We have to reconcile ourselves that until we live up to the statement in our Declaration of Independence that "...(A)ll men are created equal," then we aren't living up to our baptismal covenant, much less the example of Jesus's teaching and healing among the outcasts of his own culture and faith. 

This Palm Sunday, let us see if we are laying blame in the right places. Just as we are asked to reflect and converse with each other about our differences and how we can live together with respect, peace, and love of neighbors, let us stop and remember that painting with broad brushes when it comes to guilt or accusation is not what Jesus taught or expects us to do. May we view each other with charity, not hatred. 

Today as we prepare for Palm Sunday and Holy Week, may we reflect on what God wants us to do. God created the world with love, and let us work to bring that spirit of love back to it. 

Holy Week leads us to Easter. May we use that week to look past the pain and sorrow to the coming hope and glory that the resurrection builds in us. May we reaffirm our faith in that resurrection and all it means to us as Christians.

Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café, Saturday, April 9, 2022.

Beach Flower

 

I've learned a lot in my journey from birth to my current point. I've learned to pay attention to things that catch my eye, what I see in books, and what I hear in lessons and conversations. I'm a lot better at it than I was a few decades ago, although I'll probably never catch everything I could. Still, I have learned to look for those little moments of joy that come with those sights and insights. 

The other day I came across a picture I had taken a couple of years ago on a trip to northwest Oregon. My friend and I had driven down the Columbia River to where it met the Pacific, then drove a few miles down the coast along the ocean. We parked the car and began walking on dunes with large patches of beach grass. In between the patches, the path was clear and generally headed in the direction of the water. Plants were growing in the sand that looked like scrub, and here and there were tiny bits of color. 

As I walked along, I saw a small plant surrounded by sand. It was all by itself, with bright green leaves and two tiny light-blue flowers. In the bright sunlight, it cast a dark shadow that contrasted with the colors of the plant and even the sand around it. Somehow that plant caught my attention for several minutes. I'm glad I had that picture to remind me of it.

I thought about what that plant represented to me. It grew in an empty space, with no competition for what water it could reach. Its aloneness was its safety net and its lifeline. Like a hermit or anchorite, it reminded me that aloneness wasn't always a bad thing. In fact, I've found that it soothes me to have a frequently solitary lifestyle rather than being out in crowds, which makes me anxious and a bit fearful. The little plant bloomed where it was, seeking no one's opinions or admiration. It was what it was, and that was all it needed to be.

The presence of the shadow in such stark contrast reminded me that there are always shadows in life, dark places that happen but which will fade as the sun moves and finally sets. Even darkness in terms of nighttime can be a period of rest, calm, and reflection. The plant's shadow also reminded me of Psalm 23:4, "Yea, though I walk through the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me." I know death is inevitable, whether it is a friend, a plant, or even myself. The Psalmist reminds me that I shouldn't be afraid of dying because I trust that God will take care of me. 

The tiny blue flowers may not have a theology, but they seemed to be praising God for their being, the gift of water, shelter from the wind, and sunshine. It reminds me that I should be doing the same thing far more often than currently. It is also a reminder that all of creation is from God and that I should work harder at trying to help fix all the things for which humankind has messed up, broken, or destroyed. I can't do it by myself, but I can help others. Jesus told us to love others and care for others to bring God's kingdom to earth. 

The more I look at the picture of the little plant, the more I remember, like the smell of the salt water, the gentle breeze, the bright blue water reflecting the cloudless blue sky, the crunch of sand under my feet, and the warmth of the sun. I remember the companionship of my friend and our mutual enjoyment of being together as we listened to the waves breaking gently onto the shore. I don't know if she remembers the little plant, but I will remember it for her. It was an essential part of a beautiful day and a true gift of God's love. 

It is also a reminder that I need to be aware of tiny things around me. They, too, could bring me joy and insights. It is a part of my belief system and essential to my soul's health. 

Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café, Saturday, April 2, 2022. 

God and Responsibility

 It's spring, according to the calendar, and Mother Nature seems to agree – at least here, anyway. In this part of Arizona, winter often doesn't arrive until after Christmas, and spring is usually about a week or so long. That includes daytime temperatures in the 70s and nights in the 40s or so. Of course, many plants and flowers (often weeds) bloom year-round, like the bougainvillea and occasionally the roses. Still, the orange blossoms usually pop out around the time of J.S. Bach's birthday and the spring equinox. That seems to be when even year-round allergies crest in a king tide of sneezing, nose-running, and eye-watering. Of course, different parts of the country experience it earlier or later, depending on longitude and climate. 

Lent also occurs in spring, which to me seems a bit backward. Lent is supposed to be a time of reflection (which it shares with the wintertime Advent), remorse, and repentance. Somehow it's easier to be those things in winter when the earth is more barren, days are shorter, and nights (and cold spells) seem interminable. In spring, flowers beg us to be happy and grateful for longer days and warmer temperatures. It's hard not to feel lighter and less gloomy in spring.

Today, I've been focusing on my allergies as a Lenten penance. They are the year-round kind but have been raging in the past couple of weeks. I've been having a sneeze-fest and have already gone through one box of Kleenex in the past few days. My nose feels like it's been scraped with sandpaper and is slightly reminiscent of Rudolph in color. In my reflection today, I wondered why God made people allergic to things in nature that were pronounced "good" at their creation. Were Adam and Eve allergic to anything? Were allergies part of Job's tribulation? Did King Saul suffer from migraines caused by allergies? 

Maybe it isn't very serious to reflect on something like allergies, but it leads me to a question plaguing humankind since the beginning. If God made everything, did that include allergies, plagues, war, hatred, suffering, and almost everything that negatively impacts people? I don't hold God responsible for my having cancer, but it's hard not to wonder when I hear of a small, innocent child suffering from the potentially life-ending disease. I hear of fatalities caused by automobile accidents, but I don't blame God. I would guess that 99% of those accidents were caused by some kind of human failure, either from faulty parts, faulty decisions, or false senses of entitlement or immortality. 

Acts of nature in the form of tornadoes, hurricanes, earthquakes, floods, droughts, volcanic eruptions, and tsunamis are things I can't lay in God's lap either. People have a large part to play in climate change, which accounts for things like global warming, catastrophic fires, droughts, and floods. Ancient people blamed God (or their own gods) for catastrophes because they had no idea of why these things happened, so they found a solution to answer their questions and help them understand the world they lived in. 

Many still believe God is responsible for everything, good and bad. Even though we know many diseases are preventable or treatable with antibiotics or various treatments, we still wonder why God would allow such things as strokes, cancer, death in disasters, children being shot while sleeping in their beds, or people dying too young or too quickly. We wonder why aches and pains increase as we age and why some older adults are so grumpy and full of talk of nothing but their aches, pains, illnesses, or medications. Sometimes it would be good to be like children – crying when something hurts but forgetting about it once the pain eases and someone hands them a popsicle or a lollipop. It's easier to distract children from things than elders. 

So what is God's role in all this, and how far can we say God is responsible for things that hurt us, damage us, or make us miserable? All this started with thinking about allergies and was God responsible for those. I can't say I have come to any great insight or even a simple solution other than allergies are what they are. Sometimes I can see a reason for disasters, such as earthquakes causing tsunamis or dam failures, or weather systems causing flooding, major wind storms, and the like. 

God's role is to be present to those in need. God inspires helpers who, even at risk to themselves, rush in when others run out. God listens to prayers and supplications, sending grace and often comfort in times of need. God's visibility is dependent on eyes to see those who help others, like first responders or simply bystanders who lend a hand to someone in need. We are God's hands and feet on earth. Just as God made Adam and Eve stewards of the Garden, we are the inheritors and caregivers of all around us. 

Compared to lots of folks, I have little to complain about. Just spending some time thinking of what others are facing, I feel rather petty about complaining about allergies and a sore nose. I have learned over the years that it is much healthier to tell God what's on my mind, lay it in God's lap, and leave it there unless I experience an insight or revelation of how to resolve whatever it is. And God inspired someone to discover anti-allergenics to help with sneezes, runny noses, and watery eyes. All I have to do is get some. 

God must have similar resolutions for other things we haven't found yet. It may take a couple of centuries, or it may come tomorrow, and it just takes patience and trust.

Pardon me while I get another box of Kleenex. 

God bless.

Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café, Saturday, March 26, 2022

I See the Moon

The moon visited me the other night. I woke up in the wee small hours of the morning to see a strange light shining through a tiny slit in the Venetian blinds. I didn't remember a streetlight being in that location, so I got up and looked closer. Lo and behold, it was the moon -- or most of it. It was short of being full, but it was mostly there and shining brightly. I went back to bed but now and then opened my eyes and was able to still see it, only as its proper self, not some imitation electric globe. Somehow, it was very comforting to see that moon shining in my window as if it knew I was restless and couldn't seem to settle into sleep. Shortly after finding it with my eyes, those same eyes closed, and I slept soundly until the cats woke me up with breakfast demands. 

The moon is the balance to the sun, which gives light by day. The moon has many uses as a calendar marker, an influencer of tides, a night light, and an object of wonder and exploration. The date of Easter, one of the holiest celebrations of the Christian year, is based on the Sunday after the full moon on or after March 21. If the full moon falls on Sunday, Easter is celebrated the following Sunday. The Jewish festival of Passover is the 15th day of the lunar month of Nisan, frequently close to the date of Easter. Muslims celebrate Ramadan, a month of fasting and prayer, beginning on the day after the rising of the new moon in the ninth month of their lunar calendar. 

Lunar calendars are based on months or weeks between full moons. Occasionally, we will have a Blue moon -- an unusual and infrequent occurrence. Full moons also affect tides, and there are months when the moon is closest to the earth, which causes higher than usual tides. 

During the Exodus from Egypt, the Israelites had a pillar of cloud to guide them by day, but the moon and a pillar of fire at night. Why would they move at night when it would be much easier by daylight? When the sun is closer to earth in the desert, the heat can be blistering. Travel by night is cooler, and navigation is easier even without a pillar of fire. The Magi traveled at night because they were following a particular, very bright star, one that would not be wiped out by the moon, even at its brightest. 

At least for me, the moon is a comfort and a friend. Its light often softens sharp edges and angles and brings out birds and animals that sleep by day and feed or hunt by night. Sound seems to travel further in the dark, and everyday sounds are either muffled or absent because the night is a time of rest and sleep for half of the world at a time. 

Thinking of Genesis, when the stories tell us of God creating the light of day and the dark of night and the forming of the sun and moon, it was like the beginning of time. The sun and moon revolve on their axes, but their compositions are different. The sun, the burning ball of fire, has no dark side, but the moon, the cold dark world closest to us, does indeed have a side that never sees the sun. When the moon is not shining in the sky, we call it the dark of the moon and wait for the next phase, the new moon, on its way to the full and then waning phases. 

I think of the night Jesus spent in Gethsemane, praying to have the strength to do what God had asked him to do. I hope the moon was there, keeping watch while the disciples slept, leaving Jesus all alone. During his time in the wilderness just after his baptism, perhaps the moon gave him some comfort and respite from the heat of the day and the temptations of HaSatan. 

I think the moon should be part of my Lenten meditations. I have loved it since I was a child, and I still love it. I am grateful to God for providing this time of rest and relative peace, with a glowing reminder of God's eternal presence, even in the dark, whether physical darkness or an internal one. 

As an old childhood prayer comes to my mind, "I see the moon, and the moon sees me. God bless the moon, and God bless me." It's as true today as it was then, thank God.

Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café, Saturday, March 19, 2022. 

Life and Roller Coasters

 

I can't speak for anyone else, but thinking about life this week has led me to conclude that it's like a decades-long roller coaster ride. Now, I have a love-hate relationship with roller coasters. It took me a long time to conquer my fear and first ride one, but that same night I rode the thing a dozen times, enjoying it more every time. I've ridden many others since then, enough to feel I can make the comparison between life and roller-coaster rides.

The thing about coasters is that they are always going up and then going down, with an occasional high-speed curve and maybe a total 360° loop in there somewhere. If I'm watching someone riding on a coaster on TV, I notice I always catch my breath when they reach the top of the track and then face the downward part. That's how I remember riding them myself. I also notice that the higher the uphill part goes (and the slower it goes), the downhill is much faster, steeper, scarier, and often longer. That's what makes them fun, if a bit terrifying at times.

When I say life is something like one of these amusement park rides, I mean that when I look back on my life, I see times of great happiness and success (the uphill side) and great sorrow, fear, anxiety, and depression as life seems to plunge out of control before another small hill pops up.

Now that we are in Lent, we expect that life is not supposed to be a thrilling ride. We're supposed to feel reflection, remorse, and repentance, but occasional flashes of joy and pleasure are built in. Babies are born, and that becomes a time of joy, Lent or not. Grief also comes, and Lent seems much darker than usual. This year, we are still coping with COVID and its variants. We also see pictures of innocent Ukrainians fleeing their homeland in search of safety. They are carrying their most precious things – their children, their pets, perhaps an icon or a family heirloom, and, I'm sure, many look back as Lot's wife did, looking for one last time at the wreckage of the cities and towns in which they lived and worked.

It breaks our hearts to see such pictures and the refugees' suffering. I wonder, though, did we have such empathy with the Afghani people under similar circumstances? They too left with what they could carry, including many of the same things the Ukrainians did but were countries outside the area lining up to offer them refuge? Does this particular dip in the roller coaster ride of time have a religious component built into it?

Something else I saw this week online was a comparison of US citizens sitting in their expensive cars, watching Facebook and Twitter on their $1000+ telephones, and taking their refuge in their costly homes in "nice" neighborhoods, complaining about still having to wear masks at times and the skyrocketing cost of gasoline. Compare that to the Ukrainians walking as far and as fast as possible for safety as their country is bombed and shelled around them. Who has more reason to complain? Besides the pictures of destruction, there are also pictures of people staying and even returning to their homeland to defend it from invaders. I had tears in my eyes when I saw a picture of an older woman, on her belly in the grass, pointing a rifle and giving every appearance of planning to stay there as long as necessary. God bless her and all the others who stand and fight, as well as those who flee to save the lives of their families.

We're only in the first full week of Lent, but I'm already wondering when the downward rush will end and how it will all turn out. I know I'm not the only one praying for peace and safety and for a sign that the bottom of the hill will not be a total crash. Other things are going on in the world we need to keep in our awareness, and people around us who have needs we can supply or bring to the attention of those who can help if we are unable.

Spring is coming, so the roller coaster will go up a bit with the warmer weather and the blooming trees and flowers. Like the cars on the coaster, Lent will come to an end before starting up again, this time with the joyousness of Easter. There will still be giant hills and steep slopes in our lives, but we will have hopefully grown through the process.

May we all find this Lent to be a blessing, even if in disguise.

Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café, Saturday, March 12, 2022.

The Blessings of Lent

 I know it isn't happening everywhere or to everyone, but it seems like this year is going by fairly quickly, even if the individual days or weeks may seem to be interminable at times. It's Lent already, and I'm not sure I'm ready for it. 

Lent is a penitential liturgical season, focusing on reflection, remorse, and acts of repentance. There are days (like Ash Wednesday and Fridays) where we are encouraged to show our repentance by fasting, particularly from eating meat and giving up something we enjoy eating or doing (like eating chocolate or drinking beer or coffee). We are also encouraged to take on extra spiritual duties, like additional times of prayer, reading spiritual books, attending study groups at church, or performing acts of charity in addition to any we may already be doing. The whole focus is to develop ourselves spiritually and to recall that Jesus often did these same activities as part of his ministry. In short, we are encouraged to be more like Jesus.

Many people don't really "get" the idea of Lent. They will give up things like chocolate or only eat fish or vegetarian (sometimes vegan dishes) on Fridays. Jews fast on special holy days such as Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, and other days listed in Jewish calendars marked for fasts. Muslims fast from dawn to sunset every day during the holy month of Ramadan and three days every month. Hindus restrict themselves to vegetarian meals and fast Monday and Saturday during July and August. Fasting is not strictly a Christian practice, but Christians often undertake Lent as a time for fasting in remembrance of Jesus's forty days in the wilderness just after his baptism.

This week, I've been perusing the thought that there's more to Lent than gloom, doom, and mental (or physical) flagellation. Take Sunday, for example. The forty days of Lent only include Monday thru Saturday. Like every Sunday in the Christian calendar, Sunday is a day of remembrance of Jesus's resurrection. We celebrate the Eucharist on Sundays. Although the music during Lent is more somber and the readings a little more penitential, we still have Sunday as a kind of day off from regular Lenten disciplines.

Also, when we observe Lent, that doesn't prevent us from looking out at God's world and seeing the beauty and joy of nature. It's the season of birth, and the sight of bouncing baby lambs, kids, and calves can't help but raise our spirits and make us thankful. Trees begin budding, and flowers pop up, even snowdrops and narcissi pushing their heads out of snowbanks to reach the sun. 

Although this Lent is bruised and battered by thoughts of things going on in Ukraine and other places worldwide. During Lent 2021, we were in the throes of COVID and wondered if it would ever end. It still hasn't completely vanished, but we are freer to gather, pray, and celebrate together than we have been for many months. We pray earnestly for relief from illness, natural disasters (like Tonga), and war. We ask for God's blessings on those who suffer in any way and God's help in bringing peace and comfort to the world. 

While we ask for blessings and healing, we also need to be grateful for things we often forget to mention in our prayers. We should be thankful for those of us with roofs over our heads, health, employment, transportation to where we want and need to go, and violence-free streets and neighborhood. We pray for first responders and service workers who put their lives on the line to keep us safe, healthcare workers who are exhausted but still struggling to save lives, and those who try to keep our supply lines moving and our stores stocked with food and other necessities. We can be grateful for our four-footed friends who often seem like lifelines and who love us unconditionally. We should never forget to be thankful for those we love and who love us. The list of "gratitudes" could (and should) go on forever.

So this Lent, let us be mindful not only of what we lack in our spiritual lives, the things for which we should be repentant, and the ways to show that repentance, but also for things we need to remember to be grateful. It's another way to live a more Christian life and a fuller one through Lent. After all, Easter is only about seven weeks away!

This week, think of Lent as a blessing, not a burden.

Shortages

Zacchaeus was a wee little man
And a wee little man was he
He climbed up in a sycamore tree
For the Lord he wanted to see

And when the Savior passed that way
He looked up in the tree
[SPOKEN] And said, 'Zacchaeus, you come down!
For I'm coming to your house today!
For I'm coming to your house today!' --  Unknown

Every now and then, I get an earworm, and the only recourse I have for it is to let it roll around in my head until something else replaces it, or I physically sing or write about it. I have no idea how this one got in my brain a day or so ago. Still, it's become annoying and long past its welcome, as much as I enjoyed singing it in Sunday School, Children's Choir, and Vacation Bible School.

Granted, the story of Zaccheus comes in the gospel of Luke, chapter 19:1-10, which won't be in our Daily Office Lectionary until fall. Yet somehow, I need to think it through before it stays yet another day.

Zaccheus was a short man, probably not the only one in town. Somehow, he was called out for individuality because of: (a) his being a tax collector and therefore having at least two strikes against him, (b) his stature, and (c) his accidental but very fortunate encounter with Jesus, who was passing through. He was desperate to see this wonder-worker and teacher, but he knew he'd never get through the crowd to get close enough so that taller people would not be blocking his view.

If nothing else, Zacch was resourceful and fortunate to be standing near a sycamore tree. He climbed up, perched on a branch, and could see over everyone else's head. His visibility allowed Jesus to stop, look up, acknowledge Zacch's presence, and announce that he, Jesus, was going to visit Zacch in his own home. I don't know how many skid marks Zacch gained on his rush down the tree's trunk to the ground, but any pain would have been worth it.

We often think of short as lacking something, much as Zaccheus's lack of inches in height was to him. Shortages in our bank accounts make us anxious, while being short-changed, whether in money or goods, usually makes us angry. Our stores are experiencing shortages in many material and edible products we need to live, just as many workers show their dissatisfaction with what they consider poverty-level wages. Shortages make prices go up, just as people struggle to get by as best they can and without many things they previously took for granted.

    Something I have been considering today is that there are two things, at least, that we can count on as never being in short supply: God's love and God's grace. God, being so much greater than we can even begin to imagine, can love infinitely and spread grace the same way. Granted, some cannot conceive of, much less accept, such gifts since they are invisible and incomprehensible. They are only perceived by those who have experienced them – much, I bet, as Zaccheus experienced them from his perch on the tree branch.

I think it behooves me to think about with what I am gifted instead of what I lack – in inches or anything else. I will be reminded of Zaccheus again this fall, so I have time to practice climbing my personal sycamore tree in anticipation and wait for the gift to come into my house.

There. The earworm is gone, but the memories of happy times singing the tune and making the gestures that go with it linger. Still, I will be grateful for the memories but will pray for a new tune to start running through my head soon. Maybe "Christ Is Made A Sure Foundation" or "Cwm Rhondda," please?

 

PS: For some interesting information on liturgical practices involving this gospel reading in Eastern Orthodox, Slavic tradition Greek Catholic, and Byzantine/Greek churches of the Eastern churches, please see Liturgical Practices under the heading Zaccheus, Wikipedia. Great Lent begins March 7, 2022.

Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café, Saturday, February 26, 2022.

True Martyrs

 

Martyr –

1: a person who voluntarily suffers death as the penalty of witnessing to and refusing to renounce a religion

2: a person who sacrifices something of great value and especially life itself for the sake of principle

a martyr to the cause of freedom. . .

                                                                      ------------------- Merriam-Webster Dictionary

The word martyr comes from the Greek word for “Witness.” Many apostles, disciples, and members of the early followers of “The Way” were persecuted and executed for their proclamations of their beliefs and steadfast refusal to renounce those beliefs. For early followers of “The Way,” Jesus himself was a martyr, one who witnessed to his faith in God and his continual teachings of a belief that did not include emperor worship, which the Romans demanded, and failure to follow all the purity rules to which the Pharisees and high temple officials judged the purity of the people.

Martyrdom has been like rogue and tidal waves in the history of religion and then political and social/cultural practices. Things will go fairly normally and quietly for a time; then, suddenly, a vast and menacing wave will rise and roll along, damaging anything in its way. In its wake, it leaves not only physical destruction but the loss of life, fear, anxiety, and years of the expensive and expansive rebuilding of structures, economies, and senses of any kind of normalcy.

We are used to using the term “martyr” for people who have given their lives for causes they believed in and devoted their lives to. Martin Luther King Jr is a strong example, but how many other African-Americans have died because they stood up for equal rights for themselves and all people? We don’t know all their names, but we gradually hear of more and more of them. The African-American people are not the only ones we recognize. Other cultural groups have come forward, naming their martyrs and the reasons for their martyrdoms. We are learning almost daily that the ones who have contributed most heavily to the martyrdoms of others have actively pursued privilege and power in the name of history and cultural origin.

Today we look further abroad to learn about the martyrdoms of three Chinese laywomen who not only stood for their faith but taught it and preached it until Christianity became the subject of rogue waves of anti-Christianity in various parts of China in the nineteenth century. Agnes Tsao Kou Ying (1821-1856), Agatha Lin Zhao (1817-1858), and Lucy Yi Zhenmei (1817-1862) were devout Roman Catholics who studied, prayed, and taught local people, especially the children, the faith in which they believed so fervently. The provincial administrator of Guizhou Province, where all three lived and worked, hated the Christian faith, although the local magistrate supported it. The result was that the administrator had Christian groups rounded up and tortured, ultimately causing the deaths of the three women. Agnes was locked in a cage so small she could only stand up. After constant prayers to God, Agnes died three days later. Agatha was beheaded two years later for her refusal to reject her faith. Yi Zhenmei was rounded up with others, hauled off for a speedy trial and death sentence for failing to renounce her faith. She was beheaded the next day. Pope John Paul II canonized all three of them in 2000 as testimonies to their faith and their examples of steadfast trust in God.

Today, we often hear people being labeled “martyrs” without any real cause other than believing they were entitled to something others disagree with. True, they claimed to be standing up for the rights of others who believed as they did, but they weren’t being persecuted for that belief, nor did they face possible death for it either. There are plenty of people around the world today who face death simply because of their skin color or distinctive clothing that marks their religion. Many of these walk in fear every day, never knowing when they might be targets of those who fail to understand that the right to bear arms does not include the right to shoot other people because of their color or clothing.

I wish Jesus would somehow tweet or post or take over all the media and tell people to “STOP IT!” The way we are behaving is not what Jesus had in mind, despite claims by others. Many genuine Christians march in solidarity with the oppressed and support the causes that favor those whom Jesus claimed as the Children of God: the needy, the oppressed, the poor, the sick, the ones falsely imprisoned, and the hopeless.  

The Chinese martyrs were women doing what they were convinced God wanted them to do and, with strong faith, faced death without cringing or wavering. Most of us will never face such persecution or death for our beliefs. Still, Jesus won’t let us simply skate along, acting as part-time or even pretend-to-be-Christians. Every day, we are expected to work to strengthen our faith as surely as we go to the gym regularly to strengthen our muscles.

I am glad to learn about the Chinese martyrs. Their faith reminds me how much work I need to do to follow their example if and when I am called to do so.

Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café, Saturday, February 19, 2022.

A Basic Lesson from Paul

Romans 14:1-23

Paul has been considered the architect of the Christian church. Of course, Jesus was and is the foundation of it and who gave it substance, but Paul was the first to give it shape. There are many arguments about whether or not the Synoptic gospels (Matthew, Mark, Luke) came first or whether Paul’s epistles preceded them, but most scholars acknowledge that the earliest of the epistles came first. 

Paul never spoke of the birth narratives or the parables and miracles of the ministry portion of Jesus’s life, but he was aware of them, having heard of them from the disciples and other followers. We can probably attribute this to the nature of Paul’s epistles, which were letters and responses to new and existing groups of Christians, sometimes Gentile. Most of these letters were responses to questions or problems. Since we don’t have copies of the letters he responded to, we are somewhat in the dark at times as to what he was answering. Still, much of the content has been used as a basis for Christian theology for millennia. 

Paul often drives me nuts. There are many times I wish he had an editor who had taken the letters in hand and simplified them; however, Paul didn’t have an editor as good and with as generous an understanding of what I am trying to say as mine is. I assume Paul wrote in the style of the time, attempting to cover all possible permutations of his statements so that nobody could misunderstand. 

There are times when he is crystal clear, though. He is pretty solid on the belief that we are all brothers and sisters and that none of us should pass judgment on each other. The first scream we usually hear when this statement comes up is that of course, we have to judge; we can’t let criminals, terrorists, and thugs get away with their crimes! Those TEAPOT (terrible, evil, awful people over there) are out to steal what we have, and that can’t be allowed! 

Many often neglect to remember that much of what certain groups of us have passed judgment on others simply because we are somehow different than they are. Even if our skins are different in tint, all our blood is red, and our organs function in the same way as theirs. We are all children of God, even if we worship in different ways, call God by different names, and have different customs and languages. The fight during Paul’s time was that the Jews wanted to exclude the Gentiles because they had other traditions, beliefs, and diets. Paul argued that stumbling blocks such as the Jews put up were contrary to Jesus’s teaching about loving one another, doing kindness towards others, and helping those who needed aid of any kind. 

Paul takes many verses to spell it out, but in short, “Love God and your neighbor as yourself” covers a large block of what Jesus taught. “…(F)or we will all stand before the judgment of God…”, “So then, each of us will be accountable to God (Rom. 14:10d, 12).”

Paul may drive me nuts periodically, but there are times he seems to have hit the proverbial nail on the proverbial head. It’s simple. And it is probably why so many flocked to become members of the group that practiced this radical form of life. Not everybody did, and many today don’t do it, but it is a reminder of the fundamental teaching of Jesus for those of us who do follow Jesus. Don’t put blocks in front of those who can’t step on or over them. It wouldn’t be good to do that to an older person or a small child. It wouldn’t even be suitable for anyone to have a block put in their way when all they are trying to do is live life from day to day, safely, securely, and happily. 

I’ll be considering this section of the epistle for some days yet. I’ll try to write more clearly and concisely than Paul, but with the same sort of answer to an unknown question. It’s the Christian thing to do.

Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café, Saturday, February 12, 2022.

A Dream of a Feather

I’m sure I dream like most people, but I seldom remember a dream at all, much less in detail or with clarity. I have to note the dream when it happens.

In this dream, I was at a big church that reminded me of the General Convention that was held here in 1991.  Everybody and everything were a-buzz preparing. There was more, but all I recall now is that a single eagle feather was to be carried in the procession.

The feather came from a bird taken illegally by a caucasian man on Native American land. The man had intended to use the feather as the centerpiece for a banquet. The poor bird had been nailed to a tree. Once the bird was discovered, it was decided that a single feather would be given to the Native Americans in charge of the safeguarding the nature represented by the feather, to be used for purification and rededication of the people.

Like with most dreams, I have no clue where this story comes from. Did I make it up? Was it something I had heard elsewhere? I do not know, but it was vivid and got me thinking.

The most obvious thought the parallel between something precious the man took and despoiled with something that had been borne out repeatedly over the past centuries where the two cultures have collided. Land, tradition, language, symbolism, way of life — those things have been lost to the Native Americans to whom they belonged and for what?  Greed and the overbearing sense of entitlement. The Native Americans in the US weren’t the only ones who were victims of such colonialism, imperialism, even domination from the outside, conquerors from a completely different world who sought to make new lands and peoples over in their own image. When human beings usurp the powers of God, even on the limited scale of which humankind is capable, the results are not usually good – or beneficial (or even merciful).

The bird seemed to me to be a symbol of nature at its most beautiful when in its ultimate freedom as it was intended to be. As for being nailed to a tree, in my dream, I saw the eagle with wings outstretched, pierced through the heart with a large nail, like a crucifixion of sorts. Perhaps that is why one of its feathers was brought to the opening Eucharist of convention, to bear witness to the death of the bird to which it had belonged. In addition, it represented a call to repentance the people who had not only committed this murder and so many others and who had damaged and destroyed all that nature represented — the order, the beauty, the very cycles by which nature moves. Someone sacrificed a beautiful creature of God and nature to satisfy a need for power and a desire to be like God, whether or not they admitted it. 

Dreams can be alarming, but this one – well, it had so many levels. There was dismay about the bird, certainly. Still, there was also a sense of something else, a sense of possibility, maybe. Or perhaps it was a sense of flickering hope that there could be a return to Tikkun Olam, a healing of the world.

What would it take for that to happen, replanting forests, eliminating pollution and greed, caring for one another as brothers and sisters rather than potential (and imaginary) enemies? 

I can still visualize that beautiful bird, covered in blood, nailed to a tree with its wings outstretched, as clearly as I can see Jesus on the cross. I see the eagle as representative of peoples and cultures who treat nature with respect and only seek to live in harmony with the land and with each other. I wonder – will the land and the people ever be cleansed, purified, and redeemed? That was part of Jesus’s message to us. 

When are we going to pay attention and do something about it?  

Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café, Saturday, February 5, 2022.