The Fires of Holy Week

It’s undoubtedly been a Holy Week to remember. In addition to the usual services, especially those on Maundy Thursday and Good Friday plus Easter Vigil services that will take place tonight, the week has certainly been a rocky one.

On Palm Sunday, a fire in the crypt of the Cathedral Church of St John the Divine in New York broke out just after the 9:00 am service. The 11:00 service was moved outdoors as fire crews made sure the fire was out, and investigators made ready to begin their duties.

On Monday, a fire near the Marwani Prayer Room at the Al-Aqsa Mosque, located on the Temple Mount in Jerusalem, experienced a small fire.  It was quickly extinguished and without injuries or damage. But the world didn’t hear a lot about this fire, mainly because another landmark claimed the world’s attention.

At nearly the same time as the Al-Aqsa mosque fire began, the world learned that the Cathedral of Notre Dame in Paris began to burn in the upper regions of the vaulting, roof, and scaffolding over the nave. It blazed for about nine hours before it could be extinguished, and crowds stood on the banks of the Seine praying, singing, and grieving for the damage to this 860-year-old icon. When the spire fell, it was like watching the radio tower on top of one of the World Trade Center buildings fall to the ground on 9/11. For the people of France, it must have felt very much like what the people of New York experienced on that date.

Many news channels followed the fire throughout the evening and the night, and finally, announced that the fire had been brought under control and, was out. Later it was revealed that the grand organ, which is a magnificent instrument, had not been damaged by fire but instead was dusty but would be inspected for water damage. The choir organ was damaged severely, but there were things saved. Brave people ran into the smoky interior to grab what they could of the artworks and the vessels used for Holy Communion. Even the legendary crown of thorns was saved. According to reports, the three stained-glass rose windows were intact, and relics and paintings removed during the fire were safe. The altar area was sooty but undamaged. A roof can be repaired, organs can be restored, and paintings and relics cleaned, but replacing the wood structure and lead covering of the roof may never be exactly the same.

Watching the fire via the internet, I thought about how ironic in the sense of these fires breaking out at the beginning of Holy Week, a time when the Cathedral would probably be busy as usual for Holy Week services. The Episcopal Bishop in Charge of the Convocation of Episcopal Churches in Europe was swift to offer “... [A]ny hospitality that would be of help …”* It seems to me that that is another great sign that the Body of Christ and other faiths can work together tragedy strikes. The offer is, as I see it, the true church at work.

I think about Good Friday, and I thought to myself that this is a cross Notre Dame was bearing at that moment in time. This was their Golgotha that they must endure, just as Christ had to suffer the cross as the women and the beloved disciple watched helplessly. Looking at the damage in pictures posted in the news and online, it’s possible to see the skeleton of what once was a magnificent roofline, now a forest of blackened and burnt timbers, and with holes that must be quickly tended to prevent further damage to the stonework of the vault and the church below.

The fire also made me think of the Fire of Creation, the new fire that we light at the Easter Vigil. The church is dark, and suddenly the light rises, providing living fire from which the baptismal candle and others can be lit in celebration of the Christ who rose from the tomb and into the light once again.

I am sure, as sure as I am of the resurrection of Christ, Notre Dame will once again be restored to beauty and functionality. Jesus spoke of his own death and resurrection when speaking of the destruction of the Temple but being rebuilt in three days (John 2:19), but the people didn’t realize that, even those closest to him. Even after they were told of the resurrection by the women, they did not believe it until they came and saw. Maybe in looking at the damage to Notre Dame, it will be a good lesson for us to see it in its damaged state. It is, after all, a building, a cathedral owned by the nation of France, and administered by the Roman Catholic Church. The remains of Notre Dame will be with us, perhaps for decades, but we have faith that it will be restored to its form and function even if not precisely the same as it was.

We see the resurrection of Jesus as an affirmation of our own resurrection. It may not come in three days as his did, but we believe it will come. For the people of Notre Dame, and for us, the fires of destruction and the fires of creation linger in our hearts and make us more aware of our need to work, pray, and worship together so God will be glorified, as the original architects and laborers hoped for Notre Dame. 

May you have a blessed and happy Easter. God bless.

*Quoted in Schjonberg, Mary Frances, Episcopalians remember, reflect, pray, for Notre Dame Cathedral found on Episcopal News Service, April 16, 2019.  


Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café Saturday, April 20, 2o19.

Sabbath at Bethany

John 11:28-44

This past week has been what our Orthodox brothers and sisters call “Lazarus Week. ” Lazarus’s story began earlier in the week with his illness, which appeared to be sudden, and his equally sudden death. By Tuesday night Lazarus was no more, and they buried him the very next day, without their friend Jesus being there with them. Mary and Martha were devastated, not only by the loss of their brother but also because their beloved friend and mentor was not with them even though they had sent a messenger to advise him of Lazarus’s illness and death. But Jesus never appeared, so what were they to think?

The disciples noticed that Jesus was dawdling somewhat. It didn’t seem to be like him to ignore the summons of people from whom he had accepted hospitality on several occasions and who were friends and followers. Mary had sat at his feet and listened as he taught while Martha learned a sharp lesson that teaching and learning would last, a fancy lunch wouldn’t. The disciples didn’t understand any more than Mary and Martha did. It also seemed like Jesus had other things on his mind and he wasn’t sharing.

Jesus did finally arrive in Bethany, probably on Friday night or very early Saturday morning. Martha met him on the road and scolded him for not being there when they needed him the most. Jesus reminded her that he had many things to do. He alos needed to see Mary. Martha went to the house and told Mary that Jesus was asking for her. I think at first Mary was reluctant to go, probably not just grieving the loss of her brother whom Jesus could have saved, but also feeling angry with Jesus for ignoring them when they called.

Mary finally went out and faced Jesus. She expressed how she felt, and Jesus soothed her and then went to the tomb. There, for the second time recorded in the Gospels, Jesus wept. The question comes, was he weeping because Lazarus was dead or was he weeping for what was coming?

Jesus had the stone rolled away from the doorway and called Lazarus forth from the tomb. Mary and Martha were disconcerted, reminding Jesus that Lazarus had been dead for several days and by now would be rather malodorous with decay as was usual for dead bodies. Jesus paid them no mind. Lazarus obediently hobbled to the doorway of the tomb still encased in his grave clothes. There were no signs of putrefaction, and so people rushed to take the grave linens off him, all the while being more than amazed at what they were seeing.

Mary and Martha, it is said, had faith, but like a lot of us, sometimes that faith gets a bit shaky when tremendous things happen that make us feel deprived or abandoned. Nonetheless, they had a good reason for celebration that Lazarus was alive and home again with them.

Jesus was just one week away from death himself, an end he had tried to warn his disciples of, but, like a lot of things, they simply did not get the message Jesus intended for them to understand. He would have a busy week ahead of him beginning on Sunday going into Jerusalem, but for Saturday, he could rest, observe the Sabbath, and be with friends. I’m sure they did a lot of talking that evening, and there were a lot of unanswered questions. But it was the last Sabbath for Jesus, the final period of sustained rest he would have before all the events of what we call Holy Week.

When we think of Lazarus Saturday, we probably don’t think of Lazarus at all. We are busy buying Easter baskets and eggs to dye, all kinds of candy (both chocolate and non-chocolate), getting ready for a big Easter dinner, maybe at grandma’s house, and in some traditions getting the ham ready to cook on Holy Saturday night so that it would be prepared to eat on Sunday. At least that was the way it was done at our house when I was growing up. I miss it.

We observe Palm Sunday in the church, but it doesn’t seem to have the pull that Easter Sunday does. We have all heard jokes about Christmas and Easter Christians, those who show up for the big holidays but whom we may not see the rest of the year. In my opinion, humble as it is, I think we ought to be grateful that they even bother to come at Christmas and Easter. At least they are there twice a year. There are memorable and hopeful stories of both the birth and the resurrection of the person we call Jesus. It may not be ideal to have people only come twice a year, but at least it’s something. They may hear more in those two visits a year then some of us sitting in the pew would hear if we were there every Sunday. It could also be said that some of the Christmas and Easter Christians try to do Christlike things, consciously or not.

I think this Lazarus Saturday I’m going to be standing in front of the tomb of dear friends, at least mentally. There are so many that I wish Jesus would come and tell to come forth, even for just a day. I miss them just as Mary and Martha had yearned for their brother Lazarus. They got a second chance, something I won’t have. Those people beyond the veil will be in my heart, and my mind, and I so wish I could talk to them and tell them things I didn’t get to before they died. Luckily for Mary and Martha, they had a chance for a do-over.

In the busyness of Holy Week to come, save room in your heart for those who have gone to greater glory, those we love and miss. Think of Mary and Martha whose grief turned to joy, just as ours will when Jesus rises again on Easter morning.

Jesus is our second chance; let’s not waste it.

God bless.

Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café Saturday, April 13, 2019.

Scars

I woke up this morning with a heavy weight on my chest. I knew it wasn’t a heart attack because I could feel purrs coming from a 15-pound cat who decided it was time for me to wake up and get on with the day, namely breakfast. I don’t really mind the cat on my chest; I mean, it’s kind of nice from time to time. It’s like an eyeball to eyeball conversation where the cat doesn’t say anything, and I usually don’t either; however, it is still a conversation of sorts. Once they see that I’m awake and begin to stir, whichever cat it is gets down and waits for me to do the first couple of things that I have to do first thing in the morning before they get their breakfast.

I wouldn’t mind it so much, but now and then one of them wants to what we cat people call “making biscuits” on my chest. I have dead spots on my chest from my mastectomy surgery, so I really don’t have a lot of pain in those areas even though I can feel pressure, but if they decide to make biscuits on my scars, I’m glad I don’t have a full feeling in that area because those claws are sharp! There are live spots that hurt! I can’t explain to them that no, they can’t do that because they don’t understand. Scars mean nothing to them, and so I try to gently deflect them to the blanket next to me or the floor where I will soon be walking.

Everybody is familiar with scars of one form or another. There are different kinds, some of them grossly deforming, some very slight. All of them represent some event in the lives of those who bear them that was traumatic, painful, and debilitating, even if for a short time. Depending on the type of injury that is causing the scar, it can take weeks or months for it to heal, if it ever does. Still, there is usually a mark somewhere that has lost some feeling if not all of it, and that serves as a reminder of the incident that caused it.

I’ve been thinking about scars the last few days, even though it isn’t even Easter yet.  I was thinking about Jesus when they took him from the cross and put him in the tomb. Maybe it’s somewhat sacrilegious, possibly blasphemous, but I wondered about when he rose, which was a miracle. Did his wounds heal immediately? Did they leave scars? Did they stay open wounds, an invitation to infection and necrosis, even in the human man that was Jesus? There’s so much about the resurrection we don’t know or understand that this seems a bit trivial. What difference does it make if the scars were present when he rose or whether the wounds were still open?

When Jesus first came to the disciples after the resurrection, what exactly did they see?  They probably saw the marks on his hands where the nails had been, and they were convinced. About a week later, Thomas, who had been absent at the previous appearance, made a declaration that he would not believe in the resurrection until he saw the wounds in Jesus' hands and could put his hand in Jesus’s side. We know how that story ends. Jesus showed up, Thomas saw the nail holes, put his hand in the injury caused by the spear, and believed. But was the wound still fresh? Had Jesus healed himself as he had so many other humans?

Many of the statues that we see showing Jesus after the resurrection show him with scabbed knees, circular holes in his palms, and also in his feet. We don’t usually see the side or the puncture wounds that would’ve come from the crown of thorns.  But how much do we actually think about them on the living Christ?

I know it probably doesn’t matter whether Jesus showed people his scars or his actual wounds. He received those wounds; we meditate on that on Good Friday and then usually forget about them until after the resurrection when Thomas questioned them. Since none of us have gone through a resurrection like Jesus, we have no way of knowing what happens. Whether it was a corporal resurrection, complete with healed injuries, with or without scars, or a spiritual one, which allowed him to move about freely and to walk through walls and doors and appear wherever needed at that time, we believe Jesus did come out of the tomb and appeared to disciples and followers on earth.

Still, I wonder, do scars have the same impact as open wounds do? I know many of us, myself included, would probably turn away from seeing injuries such as Jesus endured, but with scars, we would probably look and wonder what had happened. Perhaps open marks of trauma were necessary so that people believed that Jesus was once again among them, more so than just scars would do.

Thomas couldn’t believe until he had seen. That’s something in common with a lot of us; we don’t accept something is true unless we can prove it at least to ourselves. That’s what makes Christianity so hard sometimes because so many unexplained things require us to take them on faith rather than just by sight. The wounds/scars of Jesus are just an example. Do we need to see them or can we accept that he did what was said of him, namely the resurrection, without seeing some sort of permanent mark that indicated he had undergone torture and death and come back to give us hope?

As we approach Easter, maybe it’s time for me to ask myself if I am looking for wounds or scars? I know what scars are, and I know there’s invariably some pain involved in obtaining them and even pain involved with them long-term. But am I in too much of a rush to Easter to think about what came before it? Am I too busy looking to see Jesus and not so much thinking of him as a sacrifice? I think perhaps for me to remember Jesus as a human, rather than a purely divine being,  I may need to see those wounds to confirm his humanity. Heaven knows, resurrection should be enough to prove the divinity that was his inheritance.

God bless.


Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café  Saturday, April 6, 2019. 

Math Is Not Enough

Mark 8:11-21

According to the story, Jesus had had a pretty rough time. The Pharisees were after him again, arguing with him and trying to test him to prove that he was as claimed. By this time Jesus was probably pretty frustrated.  He was rather curt in telling them that continually asking for a sign was not going to make one happen and would not for that whole generation. He then got on board the boat that was waiting for him. I think he hoped it would be a bit of rest for him.

Disciples are supposed to follow their teacher and to take note of what the teacher does and says. They are supposed to remember lessons that they have heard and seen. They are supposed to think of what the master will need and provide for it, like fruit, water, or wine. Jesus’s disciples seem to have racked up some failures in this particular category. If I were grading their report card, they would probably get an F. I guess it is a good thing that Jesus was more lenient in grading than I would have been.

At last the disciples and Jesus were on the boat, but the disciples had forgotten to re-provision it. There was one loaf of bread to be shared among all of them, which would probably only equal a mouthful or two per person. Naturally, they talked about it, and Jesus overheard them. He asked them if they had forgotten what they had seen and heard. He questioned them as to whether they could not remember first feeding the 5,000 with five loaves and two fish, and at another time on the plain, sharing seven loaves with 4,000 men.

There were women and children present at both feedings, but they were not counted, although I am sure Jesus would not have let them go hungry. That was a total of over 9,000 people with twelve loaves of bread and a couple of fish. That seems to me that would be a pair of miracles that would be pretty hard to forget. But they had the recollection of having twelve baskets of leftover pieces of bread – far more than the loaves they had started with.

The lesson is not necessarily about being able to do the math of how many pieces of bread you started with and how many were left over at the end of an event. It was about having faith and also about the power of God. Jesus would not have done this by himself; it would have required God’s will for either, if not both, of those miracles to have happened. It was also an excellent opportunity to show that if faith is strong enough even impossible things can happen.

I know that I was taught to put implicit trust in the Bible verses that said that if I had enough faith I could move mountains, or that whatever I asked in Jesus name would happen. I do not have any problem having faith, at least most of the time, but no matter how fervently I have prayed for something, the mountain has not moved, not by so much as a millimeter. Does that mean my faith is not strong enough?  I am sure the disciples had faith, but perhaps they did not really understand what they were supposed to have faith in.

Jesus was not trying to teach math, although the disciples do get credit for remembering how many baskets of leftovers came at each feeding. They remembered the facts but not necessarily the lesson behind them. A literal reading the Bible can give us what we believe are the facts, but unless we look deeper, we often miss the lessons Jesus wanted us to learn---having faith, trusting, and placing emphasis on feeding the hungry rather than just taking what loaves and fish are available and feeding it to only certain individuals.

In our modern times, we often forget that there are people who are going hungry, or who are cold, or homeless, or ill. They may have tried faith, but their needs have still not been met. There is no Jesus on a hill to take a small amount of something and bless it so everyone could be fed. Jesus did not travel with a 7-Eleven or a food truck. He took whatever was available and shared it. That is what we are supposed to do: take what we have and share it with others. We waste a lot of food every day, food that could be used to feed others. I am not saying we should take the leftover spaghetti and broccoli from dinner, put it on a plate, and hand it to the first homeless person that we see, although that might not be a bad thought. We cannot think of ourselves alone, and we certainly cannot expect Jesus to do everything for us if we are not willing to at least take the lesson from what he has done and use it to benefit others.

This week I think I am going to have to concentrate less on how much I have and think about what I need.  I also need to look around to see who and where the need is and do what I can do to help meet that need. I do not have to look for baskets of leftovers, just help supply the demand and leave the rest to God.

God bless.

Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café Sunday, March 30, 2019.

Jeremiah's Dirty Laundry

Adam and Eve were lucky. When they lived in the garden of Eden, and when their fig leaves got dirty, all they had to do was discard it and pick up a new one. It is not so easy anymore. We don’t use fig leaves anymore, and also finding a fig tree is hard to do. So we take our magic Maytags, Samsungs or whatever kind of washer we have and do the laundry. That’s a given in life.

People in Jeremiah’s time didn’t have the luxury of throwing laundry into a washing machine and setting it to come back later and transfer things to either a clothesline or a dryer. Clothes still needed to be washed, but they were usually laundered in a river or stream or very possibly a water source that caught rainwater. It wasn’t easy.

Jeremiah got a rather strange command from God to buy a new loincloth and put it on. Now they tell you to wash things that you buy before you wear them, but God told Jeremiah to put it on straight away and wear it. Jeremiah did as he was told, and then God came back again. This time Jeremiah was to take the loincloth to the Euphrates River and stick it in a crevice in a rock.  Some days later God came back yet again. Now Jeremiah was to go back to the Euphrates and get his loincloth. Needless to say, when he had done what he had been told, Jeremiah pulled out a very dirty loincloth, possibly with mold on it, maybe with sand in it.  It was no longer a piece of clothing that could be worn. It probably couldn’t even have been recycled.

God told Jeremiah that the people of Jerusalem and Judah were not listening to God, were busy doing their own thing, and even worshiping other gods. This was not the deal that God had made with the Israelite people. God told Jeremiah that Judah and Israel had been created to cling to God as a loincloth would to the body of its wearer. It was a very intimate image. Still, Israel and Judah did not listen and became like the ruined loincloth.

One of the things that God had intended from the outset was that humankind would be close to God, to cling, to be not just servants of God but intimate companions. God desired people to choose God over all things, but also gave them free will, which is like putting on a new loincloth without washing it first.  People decided to drift away, and that’s when they became like dirty laundry.

“…[W]ash me, and I shall be whiter than snow (Psalm 51:7c-d, KJV).” It is a request to God to make the speaker like a new item of clothing, clean and pure. It is an admission that we, like Judah and Jerusalem, were not what we should have been or are now.

It is difficult to feel clean when people continually point fingers and remind me what a big sinner I am, especially in church, although much less in my current denomination than my previous one. I know I am a sinner; I don’t need others to expose my dirty laundry for me. God knows all about my dirt, yet I still feel God loves me even if I rolled in the mud or was covered in grass stains. Yes, God wants me to be clean, but that is why God offers forgiveness, even before I ask.

God wants me to hang on and be close. I think that’s the whole point of Jeremiah’s lesson. The laundry may get dirty from wear, but it can be washed and made clean. If it is buried or shoved behind a rock, it will rot, and then it is no use to anyone.

God wanted Jeremiah to take this lesson to the people. In a sense, God wanted Jeremiah to air the dirty linen out in public, something with which people today are becoming more and more familiar. But maybe we need to see dirty linen, and the cost of airing it. Think of subjects like slavery of all kinds, oppression, misogyny, hatred, prejudice, etc. That is what God wants to be eliminated and replaced with new, clean garments.

God wants us to be faithful, to trust, and to cling to God despite what happens in the world around us. It seems very simple, so why is it so hard to do? Why is it so hard to follow the Ten Commandments or even the simplified form of “Love God and love your neighbor as yourself”? It can’t get much more basic than that.

This week I think I will give a lot of consideration to dirty laundry. Maybe the best thing is for me to mind my own laundry and use the washing machine frequently to keep myself clean and presentable to God.

God bless.


Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café Saturday, March 30, 2019.

Where is Noah when you need him?

It seems like, apart from politics and finger-pointing, the biggest news event right now appears to be the weather. We are accustomed to the weather being front and center during hurricanes or typhoons, but that usually lasts a day or two, and then it moves on to something else. In this part of Arizona, the weather is generally predictably boring: sunny day after sunny day after sunny day and temperatures ranging from what Phoenicians think of as cold (which is 50 to 60° as a high) to “Dang, it’s hot,” which usually indicates temperatures in excess of 110 and ranging up to 120 or so. But that’s just our corner the world; everybody’s got their own problems with the weather.

It seems like this winter snow has taken center stage, for ferocity if not sheer quantities. There was one group who carved a full-size mustang out of snow which was a fantastic-looking snow sculpture parked on somebody’s street. There are kids barreling downhill on everything from cafeteria trays to flamingo pool floats. People are skiing down the streets, and on the internet, there was an Amish gentleman being towed on skis behind a horse and buggy. Everybody’s got their way of dealing with snow.

Snow’s nice. I like it myself, although I don’t get to see it very often since I seldom leave the Phoenix area. I can look up at the White Mountains up north of the Valley and see snow on the caps of those mountains, and this year I could look at the Estrella Mountains close to where I live where there was a sprinkling of snow like a dusting of powdered sugar on a Bismarck, but we don’t get high volumes of it. This year, it seems like a lot of people got a lot of snow, and now, even if the snowstorms haven’t finished, there are parts of the country that are already having problems with the runoff.

Flooding is nothing new, but in some of the places where the flooding is occurring, it doesn’t happen that often. Floods have inundated fields that were previously drought-stricken. It seems like there is either too much or not enough.

It looks like no matter what, people always have to deal with whatever’s going on outside, and they have very little control over it, which makes people uneasy and sometimes very angry. When an excess of water cuts through a levee or an earth dam, the result can be catastrophic. We look to place blame, usually at the engineers who built the levees, spillways, and dams for just what went wrong. In some cases, it’s a case of poor judgment. In other cases, it was underestimating the amount of water that would need managing. As for the water? People have to learn to deal with it even when it becomes unmanageable. It also gets very expensive.

It makes me think of good old Noah. You know, the guy that built the ark in his backyard and whose neighbors probably thought he was absolutely batty? Noah had a far better weather channel than we’ve been able to come up with in these times – namely God. From God, Noah knew there was going to be a flood, and he also had instructions to build a massive ship to specific dimensions and with a particular configuration in mind. So Noah, who must’ve had a pretty good size backyard, gathered the wood and started hammering or maybe using wooden pegs. His sons probably helped too. Still, the neighbors probably looked at him a bit strangely as if he had turned green.

Noah did what he was told and, I have a feeling that at times he questioned just why he was doing this, but evidently, the questioning did not last very long because he kept building until the ark was finished. Then God told him to go gather up animals, either two by two, male and female, or seven pairs of clean animals and two pairs of unclean animals. I wonder what the neighbors thought of that. Noah was lucky;  there were no HOA rules, city zoning boards, or even necessity for blueprint approval and inspections.

The previously skeptical people undoubtedly got very interested when the first few drops of rain started to fall. The interest rose as the water did. The neighbors were banging on the door of the ark, which Noah had shut by this time. They wanted to get on board and were probably reminding Noah that they had always been good friends. Maybe some tried reminding Noah of favors that they had done for Noah and his family, and that it was time for Noah’s family to reciprocate. We don’t know that for sure, but we do understand human nature, and that’s a pretty good example of it. Noah didn’t open the door, and eventually, the banging and the yelling stopped. The ark was no longer in Noah’s backyard, but moving about in a flood of, as we say, biblical proportions.

I have to think that when Katrina hit New Orleans, there were people who were very probably wishing Noah would come by in the ark and pick them up instead of leaving them stranded on their roofs or up trees, crammed into a football stadium, or living outside on a bridge. They couldn’t have predicted flood that hit the Ninth Ward of New Orleans, and they couldn’t predict failure of the levees that caused the flooding there. They just had to deal with what the flood left behind, which was destruction on a massive scale. Almost every house was ruined, many with the dead still inside, and the survivors were left homeless, sick, and hungry.

God is not always going to tell us when the weather is going to be absolutely monstrous. The weather forecasters still can’t be one hundred percent accurate either, despite the knowledge they have of weather and weather patterns, signs and signals from satellites, and other types of monitoring equipment. Most of us are left to trust that we have been given a message, and act on it. But what we don’t expect is a Noah to come out of the blue and rescue us. God doesn’t always work that way.

For those who are suffering in the floods and the ones who will suffer when the floods move down from north to south, may God’s blessing be with you and may you all be safe and free from illness or death. Trust that God will be with you and that God will sometimes manifest as a guy in a rubber boat going by your house, looking to take you to safety. May you remember the four-footed creatures who share your lives, and ensure their safety as well as your own. And most of all, may God bring you through whatever comes with grace and strength and compassion for those less fortunate than yourselves and also that those more fortunate will be a blessing to their neighbors as well.

Be safe. God bless.


Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café Saturday, March 23, 2019.

Details

John 4:1-26

When we think of the stories of Jesus, we think of some different things, such as the setting, the characters, and the lesson that it is designed to teach us. All of those are ways of teaching about Jesus and his place in our human world, as well as his teachings about God’s kingdom, but sometimes we overlook something small yet important. We remember the general story, but we tend to forget the details.

Writers are taught that details are what make a story more believable and more effective. If a traditional story contains small details, we are more likely to look at them as truthful and factual than if those details were not present.

In the story of the Samaritan woman at the well, the first detail that we notice is the Pharisees hearing that there was a competition of sorts between Jesus and John as to which man baptized more people and made more disciples. Jesus didn’t baptize people, but his disciples did, but to the Pharisees, it didn’t matter. Jesus and John were both troublemakers in their eyes.

Jesus then left Judea and started back to his base in Galilee, but to get there, he had to go through Samaria which was not exactly a friendly place for Jews. The Jews and the Samaritans had been at odds for generations, one of the main points being that the Jews worshiped at the temple in Jerusalem while the Samaritans held that Mount Gerizim was the sacred mountain where worship took place. Be that as it may, Jesus sent off his disciples to buy food as he sat down by a well, much as his remote ancestor Jacob had come to a well and met Rachel. We even notice that noon is the time of the encounter, roughly the same time that Jacob’s meeting with Rachel had taken place, a time when most women were not at the well.

Jesus told the Samaritan woman to bring her husband, and she responded that she had no husband. Jesus then informed her that he knew that she had had five husbands and the man with whom she was living at present was not her husband. History has branded her as an adulteress, but was she? Divorce among Jews was a male prerogative, and the same could be said among the Samaritan population. A man could divorce for many reasons, but the only one that was singled out was adultery, hence the idea that the Samaritan woman was an adulteress.

But what if those five husbands had died? If we think of the story of Onan (Genesis 38), who was supposed to take his sister-in-law as a wife after each of his brothers had married her in turn and then died without having a child. Onan was not willing to be the latest of a procession of dead husbands, and so he disobeyed custom and ended up paying a rather severe price. Levirate marriages, where the wife bears a child for her dead husband through the sperm of his brothers, was a way of continuing and maintaining a direct bloodline.

The well at which Jesus and the woman met was one dug by Jacob and given to his son Joseph. That’s a detail that anchors the story in a historical context. Jesus then asked for water, and the woman remarked that he had no bucket. Then Jesus tells her that had she asked him for water he would have given her living water, water which would quench her thirst forever. What did that mean? What was living water? Why was it different than regular water? And how could she, and in turn, us, obtain it?

As Jesus told her about the living water, she came to understand that he was a prophet and remarked that Samaritans had worshipped on this mountain for generations. Jesus then told her that the time was coming when it didn’t matter whether they worshiped, in Jerusalem or on Mount Gerizim, but that God would be worshiped throughout the land and all of its sacred places.

The world has many sacred places: Stonehenge, Iona, Mecca, the Ganges River, Jerusalem, Bethlehem, and many other places around the world where people gather to worship and to touch the spirituality of the site.  The important thing is that God is greater than any thing or any place, and can be worshiped either by our physical presence in a church or in spirit, which can take place anywhere. That’s a detail that we sometimes forget. We attend church on Sunday, and that’s the last contact with God that we have until the next Sunday.

Perhaps we need to remind ourselves that the details are important. To live the Christian way is to surrender oneself to God throughout every hour of every day and to follow the teachings of Jesus even when they seem to be impossible to follow. Perhaps we need the faith of the Samaritan woman, running back to her people to proclaim that she had seen the Messiah because he knew the details of her life and more.

I need to consider the details of my daily life. Did I make sure that I incorporated Jesus in those details? It’s something to work on.

God bless.


Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café Saturday, March 16, 2019.

Making Decisions

John 1:43-51

“The next day Jesus decided to go to Galilee.” That first sentence grabbed me and kept me reading throughout the entire passage, wanting to know what had drawn Jesus to Galilee. Had he not planned to go there all along? Did he just suddenly made up his mind to go there? It’s fascinating to think that Jesus could wake up one morning and say, “We’re going to Galilee,” and his disciples went along. That’s like me deciding one morning to get up and go to Payson or Tucson or even downtown Phoenix. It’s not likely to happen, but it could.

That one statement makes me think more intently on Jesus the human being. Making decisions is something that people do multiple times every day. They may decide to go here or there. They may choose to buy this or that. They may determine that this is a correct assumption or proposition and that one is not. Sometimes I wonder how I came to some of the decisions that I have made, some of which didn’t turn out quite so well. I’m glad Jesus’s decision did turn out to be a good one.

I make decisions based on information that I have available at any given time. If I want to buy a new car, I research it. Perhaps I saw a model that I liked and decided to investigate one like it. In the end, I’m working at determining something which has long-term effects rather than whether I am going to the movie tonight or stay home and watch Netflix. Jesus was making a decision that would ultimately lead him to increase his followers both by direct invitation and also word-of-mouth. He found Philip and just said, “Follow me.” Philip, in turn, found Nathaniel and overcoming Nathaniel’s comment, “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” Nathaniel became part of Jesus’s band of disciples.

I wonder on what Philip and Nathaniel based their decisions to come with Jesus. Were they undergoing a great logical problem, “If I do this then that,” or was it a tug somewhere inside that made up their minds almost instantly that this was the thing to do? There was no doubt as to Jesus’s charism but was that enough to cause grown men to drop what they were doing walk away from family, friends, and home to become wanderers following an itinerant preacher?

Whatever it was, it seemed to work. Both men saw the Jesus that we have learned to see through our own experiences.

I remember the time that I felt a tug in my heart to say yes to Jesus and to walk down the side aisle from my pew to the front, to act on my profession of faith. It was not a blinding experience or even terrifically exciting. It was just something that I needed to do, and I did it. There have been times in my life when I have been or felt pulled to do one thing or another, some of which turned out to be excellent things and some of them which turned out to be disasters. The profession of faith that I made turned out to be a good thing, something that has been with me almost every single day of the rest of my life.

Like some of the disciples, there have been periods of doubt, and moments of fogginess that I could not seem to see through. At times like that, I had to walk step-by-step until I achieved some type of clarity as to what I was doing or not doing and what I should be doing or not doing. I’m sure Nathaniel and Philip, like James, John, and especially Peter, had the same moments from time to time. But they made that initial acceptance, that initial decision to follow Jesus and even if things were tough from time to time, they stayed faithful.

I think this week I’m going to be intentional about the decisions that I make. Not just little things like do I clean the house or sit or read a captivating British thriller. The house needs cleaning, no matter how interesting the book that calls to me. Do I need to spend the gas going somewhere in my truck or can it wait until I have one or two more errands that I need to run and save the gas for that? Is that good stewardship? That’s a decision I have to make. It’s one of 100 that I will probably have to make today, tomorrow, and perhaps the next day. But I have the option of making the decision, and in that way, I can be like Jesus. I can make a decision.

I invite you to join me in being thoughtful about the choices we make, and not just for personal convenience or preference, but about the consequences to not only ourselves but to others and the entire world. I must consider how one decision on my part can affect global warming when it’s no more than a matter of deciding not to drive someplace today to do one errand when I can wait a day or two and run several. I may use the same amount of gas to do one trip or two, but at least I will have given the earth a day to breathe before I add more pollution to it. I think Jesus would approve of that decision.

God bless.


Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café

Praising God

Psalm 148  - Laudate Dominum

On the last Sunday of Epiphany, we are already looking around the corner to Ash Wednesday and the beginning of Lent. The church can usually turn itself on a dime when going from one season to another. For example, Advent begins around the first of December and runs through Christmas Eve. During that time things are quiet, hopeful, and with a low-key busyness beneath the surface (usually focused on making the “perfect” Christmas). But come Christmas Eve and the first service of Christmas, all that changes and the service is one of the most glorious times of the liturgical year.  Ash Wednesday is somewhat the same. Shrove Tuesday, the day before, it’s eat, drink, and be merry, but come midnight, all of it changes, even on the wild streets of New Orleans. The end of Mardi Gras is the beginning of Lent, and with the ringing of church bells at midnight, the merriment stops.

One of the things about the beginning of Lent is that regular attendees and sometimes newcomers, find themselves tripping over one small word in the liturgy. For the first several weeks, it’s not uncommon to hear someone say “Al-” before they recollect that we don’t say “Alleluia” during Lent any more than we do during Advent. The church doesn’t use joyful expressions like “Alleluia” or “Hallelujah” during those two seasons of expectation and repentance. Still, when someone forgets, and the first syllable or two comes out loud in church, people smile and remember that sometime in the past they have probably done the same thing.

I think it’s appropriate on this last Sunday of Epiphany to have three songs of praise on the Daily Office. Psalm 148 is one of my favorites and is one that both begins and ends with the word “Hallelujah!” with an exclamation point. It’s meant to be emphasized and to be shouted joyfully, not mumbled or glossed over. Following the Alleluia in the Psalm, lists begin with hierarchies of the creation, from the angels and the heavenly host, moving down through various classes of those who should praise God.

Praise should come from the sun and the moon, shining stars, and the waters above the heavens. It’s no secret that for many, observing celestial bodies are causes for awe and wonder, amazement and reverence, especially now since we have very powerful telescopes and satellites who expand the vistas of the cosmos in all their immensity and splendor.

The earth should praise the Lord, from the sea monsters and everything in the deeps beyond which even we with our modern and highly technical abilities have not yet been able to reach. Phenomena like fire and hail, snow and fog, storms and winds doing his will are enjoined to praise the Lord. I know it’s hard for some people who have been snowbound in trains and buildings and cars and who wonder when it is going to stop. For those who experienced the devastation of wildfires this past summer might not see the fire as something to praise the Lord, but it is possible to consider looking at the power of the flames and realize that it’s only a tiny fraction of the power of God.

The Psalm goes on to the wild beasts and cattle, creeping things and winged birds, kings of the earth and all peoples, young men and maidens, old and young, with the injunction to let them praise the Lord for God’s name only is exalted and God’s splendor is over the earth and heaven. The psalmist does not include a lot of categories that we in modern times classify people or animals. But regardless, all of us are all children of God, irrespective of the name which we give to God. We don’t consider the whales who sing or the elephants who communicate over long distances and whose sense of community is almost unparalleled. Kings often consider themselves gods, but they only fool themselves. Ordinary people are not always paragons of virtue either, but they should recognize that the love of God extends to all people regardless of race, creed, orientation, ethnicity, or any other box into which other humans would put them. God’s kingdom doesn’t have boxes.

The Psalm ends with another Hallelujah! as if gathering up all of the names and characteristics that have been spelled out in the Psalm itself and readies them for a final shout of glory. It’s an invitation to praise and to acknowledge that there is a being who cares for us and loves us and wants us to love in return. So on this final Sunday of Alleluia, at least for the next six weeks or so, let’s put the auditory Alleluia away and keep it in our hearts. We can pray and praise without them, but we should never forget they are waiting just around the corner. The spirit that Alleluia represents should always be present whether spoken or unspoken.

So goodbye, Alleluia, at least for a while. Welcome Lent, that reminder of Jesus’s humanity and revelation of his glory so that his teachings would spread throughout all the earth.

May you have a blessed Lent.

Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café  Sunday, March 3, 2019.

Practicing Piety

Matthew 6:1-16

Lent is almost here, and you know what that means. It means a season of giving up things, especially indulgences like chocolate, or movies, or any other action that involves deprivation of favorite activities or foods. I’m always wary of people who give up coffee because I know that not only is it extraordinarily difficult for them, but it can make others’ lives a little touchy to be around them. Still, it’s the old way of doing things, to give up stuff for Lent that can be enjoyed again after Easter.

Deprivation is never fun. The lesson from Matthew addresses a part of this process. If it’s deliberate giving up, usually it’s a little easier to bear than if someone ordered it. If the doctor said that I had to give up things like pizza, fried foods, and just about everything that a good Southern girl would like to eat, that’s deprivation for me, although for someone else it might not be. I notice, though, no one ever asks that we give up things like carrots or cauliflower.  For me, those would be no problem to give up at all.

With the coming of Lent, we first celebrate Ash Wednesday by going to church and having the mark of ashes put on our foreheads to remind us that we are just human, particles of dust that come together to form a living, functioning body until death and decay take over, and we become dust again. The imposition of ashes as part of our Ash Wednesday service is preparation for the time when all of us will cease to exist on this earthly plane, and it forces us to think about that. It’s something we don’t like to think about very often. Typically,  we usually put off thinking about our deaths as long as possible.

When we come to Ash Wednesday, we have ashes on our foreheads; then we come to the annual problem: what to do for the rest of the day. Jesus told us to beware of practicing our piety before others. Isn’t wearing ashes out after church a form of practicing our piety before others? Isn’t it a mark that will seem to be outwardly religious, even if it’s just for that one day that we are very obvious about it? What about the number of times someone will come up and say, “Excuse me, but you have dirt on your forehead.” How do we respond to that? Do we go to a restroom immediately after church and wash it off so that we aren’t challenged about the dirt? Another choice is to leave it on and use it as a device to explain to others why we have it and what it means to us.

What exactly did Jesus mean about not practicing piety before others? My thinking is that it is walking around with a pleasant face rather than look like one like I am enduring some acute pain or agony so that people will offer me sympathy. It isn’t about trying to look like it’s a substantial inward struggle to wear ashes, or even to give up coffee.  Observant Jewish males walk around with yarmulkes, and hardly anyone ever says anything about it if they note it at all. Why would ashes once a year be any different?

I notice that there are folks who do like to make themselves look miserable.  They do it partly so that they could explain that they are observing the beginning of Lent with a reminder of our mortality.  Is that the right way of opening a conversation about the Good  News of Jesus?  Likewise, people who know of our religious backgrounds may ask what we’re giving up for Lent. If we put on a miserable face, some of those questioners might ask themselves if we’re following something painful or extreme, like self-flagellation or hours spent on our knees in prayer and repentance when it’s only abstaining from chocolate or meat on Fridays.

It’s like being on the second week of a new diet. The novelty of wearing the ashes is over and the giving up (or taking on) the Lenten practices where the struggle genuinely begins. The battle isn’t whether or not to wear ashes during the day after church on Ash Wednesday; it’s what we do as a form of penance without making ourselves so obvious to the rest of the world that we’re doing it.

Jesus fasted for 40 days in the desert. Did he leave the experience with deep wrinkles on his face or did he forget how to smile at the end of it? There was no one to give him sympathy. There was only one to offer him temptations which would appeal to a need or desire of most humans. The response to the temptation is the difference between the practice being a performance or being a reality, and there’s where our Lenten problem comes in. Are we doing this for the right reasons?

This week, on Ash Wednesday, it is every individual’s choice as to how they proceed. Do they wash off the ashes or do they wear them? If they wear them, what do their faces say about the fact that they have a mark of dirt on their face that may cause comment? Are they doing it for the right reason, as a profession of faith, a sincerely held belief, or only to attract attention? It is a tough choice.

What would Jesus decide to do?

God bless.

Originally published at Speaking to the Soul on Episcopal Café Saturday, March 2, 2019.