Meditation on the Readings for Holy Week

Those of us who are alive for this Holy Week have never seen a plague sweep the planet the way that corona virus COVID-19 has done.  How will these Holy Week readings seem different during a time of pandemic?

Think of our Maundy Thursday texts that show Jesus washing the feet of the disciples, instructing them to care for others in a similar way.  Will we focus on the sanitizing aspect?  Will we wonder how the disciples will wash their own hands after touching someone else's body?

There's the famous handwashing of Pilate, the flogging and crucifixion that can't be done from a safe distance, the kiss that started it all.  Violence requires a closer connection.

The Holy Week texts show us a variety of betrayals, betrayals that were as common then as they are now.  There's the betrayal of the ones we love.  There's the betrayal that we feel when leaders don't behave like we expected, and there's the variety of ways we might react to that.  We see both in the Holy Week texts and our own newsfeeds, the betrayals of leaders.  When our lives are upended, whether by economic implosion, disease, or by loved ones, we may even wonder where God is in all of this.

There's the hiding, the fear, the cowering behind closed doors.  The disciples must have wondered if the authorities would come for them next.  We, too, wonder who will be next.

There's the tomb where Jesus rests.  We, too, may feel like we're in sealed tombs.  We may wonder what will come next. Will we be consigned to the grave forever?

Like Mary, we might ask questions regardless of who stands before us.  We might mistake the teacher for the gardener.  We might not be able to believe the evidence that's presented to us.

God has promised resurrection.  God has promised that death does not have the final word, and the life of Jesus shows us what that resurrection life might look like.

We will leave the tomb of this time to a world transformed by this experience.  Now, more than ever, is the time to ask where we see ourselves in this story.  Now, more than ever, is the time to live like the resurrection people God calls us to be.

Sketching God's Hands

Yesterday, as I read the Palm Sunday passages for my Morning Watch Facebook broadcast, I was struck by the idea of palms, both the planted kind, and the ones that are part of our hands.  Throughout the morning, I made this sketch:

Can you see the hand shape behind the palms?  Look for the purple marks.

The hands of God have been on my brain.  About 10 days ago, I made this sketch for my online journaling class:

In some ways, I felt weird about these fingers of God.  But I did like the flame shapes made by the negative space.  I liked that the finger shapes also reminded me of descending doves.

And yes, of course I realize my flimsy attempts to anthropomorphize God.  I realize that God doesn't have hands in the way I would understand hands.  I like the idea that humans are the hands of God sent out to do the work of God.

But I also like these sketches.

Precarious: Palm Sunday in a Time of Pandemic

Today is Palm Sunday, the start of Holy Week.  For most Christians, this Holy Week will likely be one of the strangest we've ever experienced.

We begin by knowing that we won't be together, physically gathered in one place.  We no longer need to feel guilt about all the worship opportunities we will miss.  Maybe we will remember this hunger when we are able to gather in person again.

Palm Sunday has always reminded us that life is precarious, but for many of us, life has never felt more personally precarious than right now.  We're told that the unemployment rate will likely surpass that of the Depression--we are now where we were in the depths of the Great Recession.  We know that many hospitals were at capacity before the pandemic began.

This morning as I journaled, I thought about palms, both the tree and the part of our hands.  I remembered one of my favorite images of God, from Isaiah 49:15, which tells us that our names are written on the palms of God.

Palm Sunday offers us some serious reminders. If we put our faith in the world, we're doomed. If we get our glory from the acclaim of the secular world, we'll find ourselves rejected sooner, rather than later.

But Holy Week offers us a different vision than the one the world issues.  Holy Week recognizes that although we may suffer, God has promised resurrection.

God promises that all the deaths of this world will not have the final word.  That's true, even in a time of economic implosion and a plague that's on the move.  

Palm Sunday Doors and Other Ways to Stay Engaged from a Distance

Our pastor is doing a great job keeping us all engaged online.  He started posted people praying The Lord's Prayer, and it's been great to see people again this way.  Plus, we see them in all sorts of settings; most pray in living rooms, some in cars, some outside. 

My pastor has been doing evening prayer, along with a midday Bible study.  I've been doing Morning Watch; I use parts of Phyllis Tickle's The Divine Hours, along with time for sketching.

Last week, my pastor put out a call for pictures of palms decorating our doors.  We live in South Florida, so there's no problem procuring palms.

My spouse had ripped a small palm right out of the ground because it was growing too close to the house, so we had palm branches to spare.  We have an iron grid around the little window that opens, so we had a place to put them.

I had a vision of a weaving of small Palm strips, but I liked my spouse's arrangements just as well.  So we've left it as big branches.

As dusk moved from twilight to dark, I thought about the ways that doors are part of springtime religious festivals.  The Jewish festival of Passover features doors most prominently, but Christians consider people hiding behind shut doors as we move from Maundy Thursday to Good Friday to Easter.  I don't have a tradition of decorating the door for Holy Week, but this year, it seems to fit.

Drained Not Drowned

Here is how I am feeling today:

I am trying to believe that if I'm drained, it means I'm not drowned, not flooded.  But goodness I am tired.

Yesterday was one of those trying days that helps me understand why ancient people might believe in evil spirits:  each hour brought a new piece of bad news, from the emergency surgery of a faculty member to people who were locked out of accounts to an online new student orientation with technical difficulties and mid-afternoon, my campus lost internet/server connection.

Some days, I just want to give up and go home.  I try to channel my inner Winston Churchill, but refusing to surrender doesn't mean I feel like I'm winning--or making any progress at all.

I continue to sketch each day as part of the Morning Watch broadcast that I'm doing for my church.  I am sketching as part of an online journaling group; some days I am staggered to think at how much our lives have changed since I signed up for this class.

Here's my favorite sketch of the week:

One of my co-journalers posted her picture of a tree with a knot on the trunk, which put me in mind of children's Easter eggs, where you look in a hole and you see a whole other world. That's what I tried to capture here, a mystical world in the knot hole of a tree.

I know that at some point I'll look back and see gifts from this time period.  Some of those gifts, like the sketching, I recognize right now.  Some I won't know for years.  Let me stay open to the gifts and the graces.

Summer Cancellations

And now, the summer cancellations have begun.  The Wimbleton tennis tournament will get more publicity, but today I read the email that told me of the cancellation of June onground intensive for my certificate in spiritual direction.  We will meet again in January of 2021, and we will keep reading our way through the book list.

Part of me is not surprised.  I am surprised that the decision was made this early, but I know that there may be some larger issues of which I would be unaware.  Or maybe it's out of an abundance of caution.  There was also going to be a shift in oversight of the program, as the director was going to retire in July. 

Now I guess we may not see him again.  Or maybe he'll come back in January to say good-bye.

In the realms of losses, mine is a small one.  It's a delay, after all, not an outright cancellation.  I can wait an extra 6 months to get the certificate.  I can keep doing the reading and stay connected in all the virtual ways we're creating/using now.  I was not depending on this certificate to make a pivot to a new job.

I think of all the other gatherings this summer:  what will be cancelled?  Political conventions?  Synod Assemblies?  Church-wide gatherings?  Summer camps?  Conferences?

These are strange times we live in.  I know that, but every so often, that knowledge hits me in the soft parts of my body, and I can scarcely breathe.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Palm Sunday, April 5, 2020:

Liturgy of the Palms    

• Psalm
  • Psalm 118:1-2, 19-29
• Second reading
  • Matthew 21:1-11

Liturgy of the Passion    

• First reading
  • Isaiah 50:4-9a
• Psalm
  • Psalm 31:9-16
• Second reading
  • Philippians 2:5-11
• Gospel
• Matthew 26:14-27:66 or Matthew 27:11-54

This Sunday we will celebrate Palm Sunday. How will Palm Sunday change or stay the same in the midst of a pandemic?

Palm Sunday reminds us of the cyclical nature of the world we live in. The palms we wave traditionally would be burned to make the ashes that will be smudged on our foreheads in 10 months for Ash Wednesday. The baby that brings joy at Christmas will suffer the most horrible death--and then rise from the dead. The sadnesses we suffer will be mitigated by tomorrow's joy. Tomorrow's joy will lead to future sadness. That's the truth of the broken world we live in. Depending on where we are in the cycle, we may find that knowledge either a comfort or fear inducing.

Palm Sunday offers us some serious reminders. If we put our faith in the world, we're doomed. If we get our glory from the acclaim of the secular world, we'll find ourselves rejected sooner, rather than later.

Right now, we live in a larger culture that prefers crucifixion to redemption. For some of us, we see a brutal world that embraces crucifixion: no second chances, perhaps no first chances. Right now, a planet-wide pandemic reminds us that if one population isn't safe, no population is safe.

It's at times like these where the scriptures offer comforts that the world cannot. Look at the message from Isaiah: "The Lord God has given me the tongue of those who are taught, that I may know how to sustain with a word him that is weary. . . . For the Lord God helps me; therefore I have not been confounded; therefore I have set my face like a flint, and I know that I shall not be put to shame; he who vindicates me is near" (Isaiah 50, first part of verse 4, verse 7, and first part of verse 8).

God promises resurrection. We don't just hope for resurrection. God promises resurrection.

God calls us to live like the redeemed people that we are. Set your sights on resurrection. We are already redeemed--it's up to us to fold the grave clothes of our lives and leave the tomb. Turn away from the cultures of evil and death that surround us.

Now more than ever, it's important that people of faith commit to redemption and new life. From the ashes, let us build the community that God wants for us.