A Meditation on Easter and Holy Week

The readings for Sunday, April 4, 2021:

First Reading: Acts 10:34-43

First Reading (Alt.): Isaiah 25:6-9

Psalm: Psalm 118:1-2, 14-24

Second Reading: 1 Corinthians 15:1-11

Second Reading (Alt.): Acts 10:34-43

Gospel: Mark 16:1-8

Gospel (Alt.): John 20:1-18

Finally we move through Holy Week to Easter Sunday. At last, our Lenten pilgrimage draws to a close. It's strange to write about Easter when we have yet to move through all of Holy Week. But the Christian life invites us to live in this strangeness, the coming of God existing in various planes of time: the past, the present, and the not yet.

This year, more than many other years, many of us feel like we're living outside of regular time.   Perhaps you still linger back at Ash Wednesday. Perhaps you find the Good Friday texts more evocative than the Easter texts. Maybe you're in a state of joy, back with the shepherds hearing the angel choir. Maybe, like Mary, you prefer silence and pondering the mystery. It's interesting how our emotional lives aren't always in sync with the liturgical seasons or the Lectionary.

Maybe this year we can approach the Holy Week stories differently. Maundy Thursday gives us a view of how to love each other. Notice that it's about what we do: we eat together, we wash each other's feet, we anoint with oil. It's not about an emotion--it's about an action. It's not a theory of love, but a concrete way of being loving.

We are called to break bread together, to drink wine together. We are called to invite the outcast to supper with us. We are called to care for each other's bodies--not to sexualize them or mock them or brutalize them, but to wash them tenderly. Thus fortified, we are called to announce that the Kingdom of God is breaking out among us in the world in which we live, and we are called to demand justice for the oppressed.

Perhaps we find ourselves more like the disciples who would transform the loving act of anointing with oil into a way to help the poor by selling that oil and giving the money to the poor. It seems a good way to show love. Jesus rebukes this way of thinking. We will always have the poor; we won't always have the ones we love. This year, a year when so many mourn such severe losses, those words speak to me.

Good Friday gives us a way to think about betrayal and how we can respond. The Good Friday message is that we will all betray God. But some of us will try again, while others will give up in abject despair. Some of us will apologize and try to do better, while others will choose death.

I also find myself thinking about the tree that must wish for a great destiny, but is transformed into the cross, an instrument of torture. Likewise, Jesus, who has been in some amount of control of his own actions, but finds himself handed over to others. In these past years when I've watched so many friends and colleagues battle cancer--handed over to the medical-industrial complex--the idea of the Passion takes on an excruciating hue.  

Holy Week takes on an even more poignant tone this year, as we consider the pandemic time we're still living through, along with a variety of social justice movements that remind us that we still have work to do to make our societies better for all.

Easter promises us that our efforts will not be in vain. In Surprised by Hope: Rethinking Heaven, the Resurrection, and the Mission of the Church, N. T. Wright says forcefully, " . . . what you do in the Lord is not in vain. You are not oiling the wheels of a machine that's about to roll over a cliff" (208). We may not understand how God will transform the world. We may not be able to believe that bleakness will be defeated. But Easter shows us God's promise that death is not the final answer.

Spring reminds us that nature commits to resurrection. Easter reminds us of God's promise of resurrection. Now is the time for us to rekindle our resurrection selves.

One Year of Morning Watch

 A year ago, many of us went into our houses and wouldn't come out again for weeks--and those of us with underlying health conditions probably still haven't left our houses much, if we have been allowed to stay sheltered.  As we went into lock-down, we experimented with broadcasting a variety of activities, from school to church to fitness classes.

My church had already been doing some live-streaming of Sunday worship service, so making that pivot to broadcasting worship wasn't hard for us.  My pastor added some evening Compline services to the mix.  Those of us who are early risers wanted something on the other side of the day, and I volunteered to be the one to do it.

I thought about choosing texts for the day, but then I wondered why I would do that, since we had common lectionaries.  I took the path of least resistance for me, which was using Phyllis Tickle's The Divine Hours.  I used the Facebook Live feature and used the church's Facebook page, which meant that people could tune in live or they could watch the recording later.

I planned to continue until Easter and maybe a few weeks beyond.  But as the weeks went on, I found that being the one responsible for doing morning watch enriched my day in ways that it didn't when I was alone.  At the end of the time together, after the closing prayer from The Divine Hours, I give a benediction of sorts.  Some days it's more like a reminder of how God is working in and through the world, in and through us.  Some days it's a connection to the church calendar--I'm particularly fond of feast days of saints that most of us have forgotten or never heard of.  Always I stress that God is with us, rooting for us, delighting in us, waiting patiently for us, pointing us in new directions.

My view of God is not the view of God as angry judge or of us as helpless children in need of a parent.  The image I come back to again and again is one of God as a creator in the middle of a big project, and we get to be part of the creative team, if we say yes.  And if we don't say yes, God doesn't go off in a huff.  God is there, each day, inviting us again and again.

In short, I finish morning watch each day by sending us off into our separate lives with words that I need to hear.

Has it made a difference?  I do hear from church members about how much they appreciate my efforts.  There are a few people who tune in every day, day in and day out, while others watch the recording.  There are some I'm sure I know nothing about.

I have not missed a morning except for the one time I didn't have connectivity at Lutheridge.  I have never been that devoted to a practice in my past.  I've usually taken days off, and sometimes, the practice has fallen away altogether.

It's also been good for my sketching.  Each morning, I've spent 5 minutes on a sketch--and it shows in my "realistic" sketching.  There are still plenty of ways I'd like to be better, but I wouldn't have seen the improvements that I have without my daily appointment.

I plan to continue doing morning watch--let's see what year 2 brings!

Paid Holiday for Passover

I have today off for Passover, and then, I have Friday off for Good Friday.  It's very ecumenical, and not at all what has been usual at my school.  But the sale actually happened last week, and now we have new owners who are Jewish.  Now we will get all the Jewish holidays, along with Good Friday and Christmas, and a slate of federal holidays.  This year, in September, we will only have about 12 work days, between Labor Day, Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, and several days for Sukkot.

Let me be clear that I am not complaining.  I would also be happy to celebrate Muslim and Hindu holidays.  

Since I knew that I had the day off, I scheduled my last psych evaluation appointment necessary for the candidacy committee.  Maybe today will be the day when I finally find out which 4 letters I am in the Myers-Briggs universe.  I've done some of that work in the past, but I can never remember the Myers-Briggs.  In fact, I don't think I've ever done the Myers-Briggs because it cost too much money.

The appointment will be by way of Zoom, and I feel a bit of anxiety about the stability of my internet connection.  That anxiety seems to have joined my stable of anxieties.  Ugh.

I will also practice the bass part that I'm playing on 2 songs for the Easter sunrise service.  My friend has loaned me her bass ukulele to practice this week.  I am amazed by what a different kind of music playing experience it is.  I look at the music and the words and the advice to play every other beat--but with words, it's distracting.  I'll do best if I ignore the singing, but can I?

Happily, if I discover that I can't, I won't be wrecking anyone's sunrise service experience.  It's a gift in so many ways to be part of a forgiving and encouraging church.  Not every church music program is this way.

So, onward to my first paid holiday I've ever had--ever--for Passover.

Sermon for Palm Sunday 2021

I was happy that my pastor let me do the video sermon for Palm Sunday.  We are still meeting remotely, so it needed to be pre-recorded.  This time, I used still photos and wrote out most of the sermon before, so that I could record segments and put them together.

I still have much to learn, but I'm pleased with how it turned out.  It's too big to post here, but you can go here to my YouTube channel to see it. 

And because I wrote it out, I can paste the sermon below:

Palm Sunday 2021 Sermon

In some ways, it seems strange to be celebrating Palm Sunday again, here in year 2 of our pandemic. When we had to cancel in-person services last year, so many of us probably assumed we’d be back to “normal” again soon. And here it is, a year later. In some ways, nothing has changed. In some ways, so much has changed.

Palm Sunday reminds us of the cyclical nature of the world we live in. The palms we use on Palm Sunday 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 to the manger 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 reminds us of life's journey. No one gets to live the triumphal entry into Jerusalem day in and day out. If we're lucky, there will be those high water mark periods; we'll be hailed as heroes and people will appreciate our work. Our friends will be by our side. We won’t grow disillusioned with our loved ones.

If we’re lucky.

But we know where Palm Sunday is taking the story of Jesus. As we move through Holy Week, we’re reminded that today’s adoring crowds can turn on us quickly and demand our death just a few days later.

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.

If we put ourselves in the crowd on Palm Sunday, we’ve got lessons there, too. Those first century people with palms in their hands, welcoming Jesus—they, too, were expecting something totally different. They weren’t interested in spiritual liberation. They wanted a conquering hero, someone who would kick the Romans out of Jerusalem, someone who would restore the Homeland to Jewish rule. They didn’t want to be free to love each other. They wanted to be free of the rule of dictators.

Our world has not changed that much. The rule of government can still be tyrannical. We still live in a culture that will choose crucifixion over death. How can we live in such a place? How can we not yearn for freedom?

The passage from Palm Sunday to Easter tells us to take heart. God will not leave us abandoned in this crucifixion worshipping culture. God who has been working through time and outside of time to transform this human condition. We don't always see it, but Easter assures us that the process is in place and that resurrection will break through, even in the most unlikely circumstances.

Up and Down News and an Acceptance

 In the late afternoon, as my spouse got ready to teach his Friday night class, I read about the death of Larry McMurtry.  At one point, McMurtry was my spouse's favorite writer, and we owned all of McMurtry's books.  And then, about an hour later, I learned that Beverly Cleary had died at the age of 104.

I've written about Cleary before, most completely in the first part of this blog post.  And I periodically return to Lonesome Dove--see this blog post for one of my more complete considerations.  Last night I made this Facebook post:  "A tough day in terms of literary losses, with the death of Larry McMurtry and Beverly Cleary. So I was happy to meet the baby of my neighbor's son, the son who had a horrifying motorcycle accident a few years ago, and it's amazing he lived, much less had a baby with his high school sweetheart. In October, just before the baby was born, I made her this quilt, and tonight we met face to face. In a few years, maybe I'll give her a book by Beverly Cleary, after we go around the neighborhood Christmas caroling."

Yesterday was that kind of up and down day all day.  It is strange to be at a campus that is in a slow motion closing, doing the work that keeps the campus going, while at the same time, knowing that work will eventually come to naught--and yes, I get the metaphor.  All of life can be described this way.

During my lunch break, I was writing an e-mail to my family to catch them up on developments--for the most part, I've been in a wait and see period.  I sent the e-mail that said that my application to Wesley Theological Seminary was complete, and I had been waiting impatiently for the mail each day, as if I was a high school senior.

Then I wondered if I would get an old-fashioned letter, so I went to the Wesley website.  The application area has a dashboard once one has applied--that's how I could track whether or not my materials had arrived.  A week ago, they all had (on March 15, one letter still needed to arrive), and the dashboard showed that my application was complete and under consideration.

I wasn't sure how the process worked at that point.  Does Wesley do rolling admissions?  Are there a limited number of seats?  How many of those seats might be reserved for Methodists, for people of color, for people with higher GPAs than mine?  How long before I would know?

Yesterday afternoon, the dashboard showed that there was a decision.  Oh my!  I clicked, and the website launched my acceptance letter.  I made a copy, just in case one never comes by U.S. Mail.  I clicked on the button to let Wesley know that I plan to enter seminary for Fall 2021, and I paid the $125 fee.  I read a bit on the portal that I now have access to as an entering student.

Then it was time to return my attention to work.  Part of me wanted to tell all of my colleagues the good news, while part of me wanted to keep checking to make sure that I had seen news of acceptance.  Had Wesley changed its mind?  I also didn't want to share because I didn't want to answer questions. 

I know that a lot of people might have surprised at how relieved I am to get official acceptance.  Some people have said to me, "Of course you'll be accepted.  How could you not?"  And I resist listing all the reasons.  

I'm so glad that none of those reasons turned out to be a dealbreaker.  I'm so glad for this acceptance letter.

Prophets, Ancient and Modern

In his daily reflections, Richard Rohr has been focusing on prophets this week.  He has been reminding us all week that the role of the prophet is to point out what's wrong with society, with all the idols we worship, including priests and the temple itself.  But it's so much more than that.  It's about sharing the ecstatic vision of God, about the vision that God has for creation.

The reflections have been speaking to me.  I feel we need prophets for our own time.  Most people assume we need prophets to speak truth to power, and we do.  But we also need prophets to proclaim God's vision for creation, to remind us all, again and again, that a better way is possible.  We need prophets to paint a picture of the possible, so that more people catch that fire and work towards that vision.

It's important to remember that any of us can do that work.  Prophets through the ages have come from all sorts of places and backgrounds.  This morning's reflection quotes Benedictine Sister Joan Chittister:

"These prophetic people, people just like us, simple and sincere, eager and inspired—these sheep herders like Amos and small-business people like Hosea, these simple country farmers or priests like Jeremiah, these thinkers and writers and dreamers like Isaiah and Ezekiel, these struggling lovers and suffering witnesses like Micah, these brave and independent judges and leaders, like Deborah and Miriam, made no small choices. They chose courage. They chose the expansion of the soul. They chose to stake their lives on what must be rather than stake their comfort, their security, the direction of their lives, on what was." 

from her 2019 book The Time Is Now: A Call to Uncommon Courage

For more, go here and look for the Daily Meditations section of the website.

Sketching the Feast of the Annunciation

Since May, I have been creating a card for the temperature check in station that gives the date and has a sketch.  Some days, the sketch has something to do with the date, while other days, I'm simply sketching the latest thing that appeals.  Some days I'm striving for realism, while others, I'm being fanciful.

When I realized that the feast day of the Annunciation was coming up, I decided to see if I could create something special.  I ended up with this sketch:

I might have been less pleased with it, had I not gone through several rough drafts.  Here's one with a goofy face that turned into a deformed face when I tried to fix it:

And another, where Mary looks too masculine:

As a model, I was using a linoleum block print that Beth Adams created years ago, a process which she describes in a blog post that makes me want to do printmaking:

In the end, I worried that the image was too religious, so I decided to create something more ambiguous:

I love the feather left behind from Gabriel's wings.  I love that the image of the feather gave me a poem that I wrote yesterday.  I love that the Virgin Mary image hearkens back to images I was creating back during Advent (see this blog post for more on the Advent images of the Virgin Mary).  I love that I'm the only one who will see the religious significance.

And let me include my process notes, in case I can't remember later.  One might wonder why I don't use a pencil and make copious corrections.  Part of the reason is because I haven't worked much in pencil, and I don't have good pencils in the office.  Part of it is because I don't want to get too bogged down in a quest for perfection.

Similarly, one might wonder why I'm not using a better quality paper.  When I started, I thought I would be throwing them all away, so I used the backs of paper from the recycling box.  But I found I couldn't bear to throw them away.

I have 3 sets of markers here, so I'm limited to some extent in terms of color.  But that's true at home too.  I'm not as good at blending these markers as others are--and on this kind of paper, it's even more difficult.  But again, I want to be aware that I'm not creating works of art; the goal is to do a quick sketch, to train my hands and my eyes, staying focused on the process, not the end result.

In short, like Mary, I want to say yes to a plan that shimmers with hope.