Saturday. Coffee. Sofa.
At the Ongoing Bible Study this week Doc Joe reminded us that it is easy to want to jump directly from Jesus' triumphal entry into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday to the celebration of the Resurrection on Easter Sunday. But, he reminded us, to better understand the meaning of the resurrected Christ, it is important to explore what happened in between.
Honestly, I don't have that particular problem. (I savor the moment when I hear of a problem I don't have.) I am amazed by Holy Week. Jesus being welcomed by the adoring crowds. The power and urgency of Jesus' preaching and actions during the week. His absolute control of the events around him in the temple. The discourse with religious authorities and government officials. His constant awareness and closeness to the least of these even as he engaged the powerful. The strength Jesus exhibited in humility. The tragedy of religion gone wrong. The frustration of a spineless politician. The fickle nature of humanity. The cruelty of man. Fear. The determination of Christ. The pain of a mother. The friendship of Mary. The humanity of Christ. The divinity of Christ.
The week starts with a parade that seems to run downhill as the week progresses. Events come faster and faster. So much to do before the end. Faster and faster. Actions, stories, prophesies and confrontations. Throw in a meal or two with friends. Then a trial and an execution. Suddenly, the apparent end on Friday.
Everything stops.
So it is Saturday. We are told that Jesus' friends did nothing because it was the Sabbath, and it would be improper. The only activity is the Roman officials watching the tomb to prevent the body being stolen to set up some crazy story about a resurrection.
So today is a day of waiting. Fear, sorrow, frustration, heartbreak. We who are followers in the 21st century know that Sunday is coming. But maybe it would be helpful to us to take a moment today to feel the intensity of emotion, or the absolute numbness, of those who were devastated by Jesus' apparent horrible, meaningless end. They did not know what Sunday would bring. If Jesus had only spoken more clearly.
Today is the ultimate in-between, that time that exists between certainty, a dimly lit way filled with doubt. Nothing is left but faith, and that is feeling slippery.
Sounds a little familiar to me. Like the hyphen on the tombstone. The time between birth and death.
Like life.
.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Friday, April 10, 2009
It was about the sixth hour . . .
I was working at home this afternoon. It was about the sixth hour. Sometime between the sixth and ninth hour as a matter of fact.
I do that on Good Friday. I carry on with work. From time to time through out the day it crossed my mind that this is the day we remember the trial and death of Jesus. I had to be in court at eight this morning. The verdict would have been in for Jesus by the time we got started good. It was surreal carrying on as usual while remembering the events of Jesus' day. Our activities seemed so trivial, so meaningless. I suspect it wasn't much different in Jerusalem. We concentrate on the few folks who were paying attention. But I'm betting most in the city didn't have a clue that the history of the world was turning on a dime (or a mite i suppose) right down the street. But then, sometime around the sixth hour, the sky turned dark as night. Lots of weird things happened. Darkess, earthquake, dead folks walking the street. Lasted about three hours.
So this afternoon I was working on some pleadings at home. The sky was not particularly dark, but the wind started to howl. And it did not stop. I looked out the back window up into the woods and watched as the trees seemed to bow almost to the ground. I've never seen anything like it. Remembering the sweetgum tree incident of a couple of weeks ago, it got my attention.
But I needed to finish my work; my attention waned.
Until something cracked like a rifle shot, followed by an explosion. Then it got dark. At least in my house. The power had gone out.
I ran outside, thinking that the rest of the sweetgum tree had fallen on my car. But it had not.
Then I looked down the hill at my parents' house about fifty yards away. I could barely see it. Not because it was dark, but because a big red oak had fallen across the yard, taking down the power lines, and crushing part of the roof. I could not tell how bad the damage was. As the wind still howled I was paralyzed with fear for a few seconds. I did not want to have to go see what had happened.
But my parents were in the house. I had just left them a few minutes before. I had to go see what happened, if they were alright.
Avoiding fallen power lines and a big old tree blocking the whole front of the house I made it to the back door about the time my dad was coming out. They were fine.
It made for an interesting Good Friday afternoon. Surrounded by the awesome power of God's creation as the wind forced the trees to bow, and some to break, I was still able to ignore it all and retreat into my own importance.
Until it all blew up and trees blew over. I couldn't ignore it any longer. Things changed in an instant.
My world is back to normal, except for the big honking red oak tree lying across my parents' front yard, sidewalk and steps.
But on that original Good Friday, with the words "It is finished," everything changed.
And nothing would ever be the same again.
.
I do that on Good Friday. I carry on with work. From time to time through out the day it crossed my mind that this is the day we remember the trial and death of Jesus. I had to be in court at eight this morning. The verdict would have been in for Jesus by the time we got started good. It was surreal carrying on as usual while remembering the events of Jesus' day. Our activities seemed so trivial, so meaningless. I suspect it wasn't much different in Jerusalem. We concentrate on the few folks who were paying attention. But I'm betting most in the city didn't have a clue that the history of the world was turning on a dime (or a mite i suppose) right down the street. But then, sometime around the sixth hour, the sky turned dark as night. Lots of weird things happened. Darkess, earthquake, dead folks walking the street. Lasted about three hours.
So this afternoon I was working on some pleadings at home. The sky was not particularly dark, but the wind started to howl. And it did not stop. I looked out the back window up into the woods and watched as the trees seemed to bow almost to the ground. I've never seen anything like it. Remembering the sweetgum tree incident of a couple of weeks ago, it got my attention.
But I needed to finish my work; my attention waned.
Until something cracked like a rifle shot, followed by an explosion. Then it got dark. At least in my house. The power had gone out.
I ran outside, thinking that the rest of the sweetgum tree had fallen on my car. But it had not.
Then I looked down the hill at my parents' house about fifty yards away. I could barely see it. Not because it was dark, but because a big red oak had fallen across the yard, taking down the power lines, and crushing part of the roof. I could not tell how bad the damage was. As the wind still howled I was paralyzed with fear for a few seconds. I did not want to have to go see what had happened.
But my parents were in the house. I had just left them a few minutes before. I had to go see what happened, if they were alright.
Avoiding fallen power lines and a big old tree blocking the whole front of the house I made it to the back door about the time my dad was coming out. They were fine.
It made for an interesting Good Friday afternoon. Surrounded by the awesome power of God's creation as the wind forced the trees to bow, and some to break, I was still able to ignore it all and retreat into my own importance.
Until it all blew up and trees blew over. I couldn't ignore it any longer. Things changed in an instant.
My world is back to normal, except for the big honking red oak tree lying across my parents' front yard, sidewalk and steps.
But on that original Good Friday, with the words "It is finished," everything changed.
And nothing would ever be the same again.
.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Lord I want to be in that number?
First, let me remind you to check the Maundy Thurvey in the post that follows. The world would love to read your thoughts.
Earlier in the week I ranted a bit about the need to have the numbers. Popularity equals right. Popularity equals power.
Jesus had the numbers as he started the week riding into Jerusalem on the prophesied donkey. A large crowd welcomed him shouting "Hosanna, blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord, Hosanna, blessed is the Christ, the Son of David.'
He could have kept the crowds. He could have done a few more miracles, embarrassed the Romans, sucked up to the Pharisees and chief priests. He could have established himself in Jerusalem as the messiah they had been looking for, had been waiting for. He could have set up a nice little kingdom for himself right there, right then.
But something happened on the way to the coronation. Jesus went horribly off script. At least the script so many unholy ghostwriters then, and now, had written for him.
He threw the good businessmen out of the temple. He told stories in front of large crowds that embarrassed, even condemned the chief priests and pharisees. He talked of kingdoms and social revolution, which did not set well with the Romans. And Lord, where did he come up with the seven "Woes" speech? It made everyone mad.
So mad that it was obvious he was in trouble. Even those who might have wanted to hang in there with him were afraid for their life. If he wasn't committed to "winning," he was just going to make life hell for everybody who followed him. Trouble from the religious authorities and the Roman authorities. Who needed that?
So it was kind of remarkable that he had one hundred percent attendance at the Last Supper on Thursday night. But they came. Frightened. Confused. Not the large crowd. Just his real friends. The twelve.
The ones he served the sader, the ones whose feet he washed, and the only ones, as far as we know, to whom he spoke the words, "this is my body broken for you, this is my blood shed for you. As often as you eat and drink these simple things, probably every meal, remember me and what we have shared."
Only twelve.
Not big numbers.
.
Earlier in the week I ranted a bit about the need to have the numbers. Popularity equals right. Popularity equals power.
Jesus had the numbers as he started the week riding into Jerusalem on the prophesied donkey. A large crowd welcomed him shouting "Hosanna, blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord, Hosanna, blessed is the Christ, the Son of David.'
He could have kept the crowds. He could have done a few more miracles, embarrassed the Romans, sucked up to the Pharisees and chief priests. He could have established himself in Jerusalem as the messiah they had been looking for, had been waiting for. He could have set up a nice little kingdom for himself right there, right then.
But something happened on the way to the coronation. Jesus went horribly off script. At least the script so many unholy ghostwriters then, and now, had written for him.
He threw the good businessmen out of the temple. He told stories in front of large crowds that embarrassed, even condemned the chief priests and pharisees. He talked of kingdoms and social revolution, which did not set well with the Romans. And Lord, where did he come up with the seven "Woes" speech? It made everyone mad.
So mad that it was obvious he was in trouble. Even those who might have wanted to hang in there with him were afraid for their life. If he wasn't committed to "winning," he was just going to make life hell for everybody who followed him. Trouble from the religious authorities and the Roman authorities. Who needed that?
So it was kind of remarkable that he had one hundred percent attendance at the Last Supper on Thursday night. But they came. Frightened. Confused. Not the large crowd. Just his real friends. The twelve.
The ones he served the sader, the ones whose feet he washed, and the only ones, as far as we know, to whom he spoke the words, "this is my body broken for you, this is my blood shed for you. As often as you eat and drink these simple things, probably every meal, remember me and what we have shared."
Only twelve.
Not big numbers.
.
Maundy Thurvey
It is time once again for the weekly inquisition. I encourage, nay, beseech you to post an answer or comment to this weeks question. Simply click on the comment button below, type your comment in the comment window followed by your name unless you want to remain anonymous, click anonymous, then publish.
Time magazine's investigative report of the decline of Christianity in the United States was picked up by the major news outlets this Holy Week. Interesting timing as many Christians meditate on a similar dynamic as the original Holy Week progressed from triumphal entry to desertion.
Do you have an explanation for the decline in the number of professing Christians in the US? Is it a good thing or a bad thing or both? Why? Does it matter at all? If you are a Christian, how does that decline make you feel? If you are not, same question?
Time magazine's investigative report of the decline of Christianity in the United States was picked up by the major news outlets this Holy Week. Interesting timing as many Christians meditate on a similar dynamic as the original Holy Week progressed from triumphal entry to desertion.
Do you have an explanation for the decline in the number of professing Christians in the US? Is it a good thing or a bad thing or both? Why? Does it matter at all? If you are a Christian, how does that decline make you feel? If you are not, same question?
Subscribe to:
Posts
(
Atom
)
