Sunday, April 26, 2020

Broken

Scripture Luke 24:13-35 


            Two men are walking along side a road. They are going to Emmaus yet they are going nowhere. For the last three years they had had a sense of direction, but now they are lost. Don’t misunderstand me, they know where the road leads, they just have no idea where their hearts will take them.

            Sometimes we are left completely helpless by events that crash into our lives.  Sometimes the faith that sustained us as children crumbles in an adult world.  Sometimes the answers that come to us so easily on Sunday morning seem almost foreign, even useless, the rest of the week.  We have this deeply entrenched belief that if God is for us nothing horrible will ever happen to us.  We believe God will always care for us. God will keep us from harm’s way.  We were taught as children “Jesus loves me”, and through the years we have accepted a number of preconceived convictions concerning exactly what that means.  Unfortunately, as we are now experiencing, life is not always scripted the way we would have written it.   Death is only a county away.  When we lose control of our lives, we question our faith.  What do we really believe when nothing around us makes sense?  In our moments of confusion, we want to believe Jesus is with us, but bewilderment blinds us from recognizing this most blessed of assurances.

The story I share this morning pales in comparison with the tragedies we hear about daily. It is not a recent story. My Aunt Evelyn died over forty years ago. But when word of the death of a loved one disrupts our life, it is a moment we never quite forget.   My Aunt was a brilliant woman.  She taught English at Waynesboro High School and was seldom seen without a book in her hand.  I was privileged to spend a great deal of time in her basement when I was growing up.  The walls were filled with her precious books.  When I visited Aunt Evelyn, I had permission to take any book off the shelf, and go anywhere my imagination might take me.   Historical novels, stories about spies, intrigue and murder, the classics and some not so classic stories were at my fingertips.  Her collection was better than any public library.  I would stay up way past my bedtime, too frightened to sleep until the last page had been turned.

            My Aunt developed Alzheimer’s in her early sixties.  The books she loved no longer had meaning.  Her life was lived in confusion. One day, lost on a path she had traveled for years, she tripped, fell into the South River, and drowned.  I was in my thirties and mistakenly thought I was old enough to deal with tragedy.  After all I was an ordained Presbyterian minister, fully prepared to handle issues of life and death.  I weekly stood in the pulpit and proclaimed the good news of the gospel.   I had conducted many funerals and ended each with the proclamation that nothing, not even death, could separate us from the love of God.    My head believed everything I said, but now my heart was broken, unable to call on all the resourses of my faith to offer the comfort I so desperately needed.

            I quickly made plans to drive to Waynesboro.  David had just been born, making it impractical for all of us to make the trip.  Out of the blue, the phone rang and a member of my church asked if he could travel with me.  I was too confused and desperate to refuse his offer.  An hour later, Phil and I headed north into a blinding sunset.  My friend and I were on our road to Emmaus.

            For the next six hours my friend listened to my stories, offered words of comfort, then he asked a question which left me silent. “So, is the God you are always talking about on Sunday making this trip with us?”  

            I hated him for challenging me with that question. I had been raised with a clear understanding of the power and majesty of God. I could see God in the miracle of creation. My creedal statements and theological training stressed the omnipotence of the Holy One. Yet this so called friend, in the midst of my grief, dared to question if the God I preached took a rain check when tragedy interrupted perfection?  You all know the questions that creep into our minds once the keeper of unquestioned truth removes his finger from the dike. If God is all-powerful, why doesn’t God intervene?  If God is all-knowing, why doesn’t God give us a warning?  If God is omnipotent, why are we so vulnerable? It was on that trip I began to discover if I only understood God as all-knowing, all-powerful, omnipotent and omnipresent, then perhaps I don’t know Jesus at all.

            What blinded the two men on the road to Emmaus?  Why couldn’t they recognize the man walking beside them?  Why were their eyes closed? Why were their hearts empty? Perhaps they never knew Jesus.

            Less than a week before he died, Jesus took bread and said, “This is my body broken for you.”  His last sermon was not about the power of God.  His last words were not about the knowledge of God.  His last breath was not about the creating genius of God.  It was about brokenness, something all of us have experienced.

I have no idea what the two men on the road to Emmaus expected.  They heard rumors Jesus had been raised from the grave but they seemed to have discredited the unconfirmed gossip. I guess they believed if Jesus had risen he would return with a band of angels descending from heaven.  That is what any of us might anticipate from the God of power and might.  But what is it that we really need most when our lives have been shattered?  I am not sure any words are adequate. Phil’s question was not particularly helpful as we traveled toward Waynesboro, but in years following, Phil’s question continues to haunt me. I sometimes wonder if the resurrected body of Christ heals an aching heart.  I sometimes wonder if God even desires to understand our pain. I guess I wonder if an omnipotent God is even capable of experiencing agony. 

In the story of the road to Emmaus, before revealing himself, Jesus walked the two men through the Old Testament. I don’t know which scriptures he highlighted but the men were impressed by Jesus’ knowledge. But even this comprehensive journey through the sacred text failed to reveal his identity. Only when Jesus broke bread were their eyes opened.

When broken, how many of us have questioned God’s power? When broken, how often do we reconsider who God is? When broken, how often have we discovered a presence that never quite fits our traditional perception of the Almighty?

We like to brag that we are created in the image of God. Have you ever considered this image might have nothing to do with ultimate power? Have you asked if power is godly at all? If God is primarily powerful and mighty then God must be self-righteous, violent, even hateful. Isn’t power the vehicle we most often use to enslave or divide folks different from us?

Rabbi Abraham Heschel writes, “Sin is the refusal of humanity to become merciful, gracious, and steadfast in love. When we are anything else, we not only fail, we blame God for our failure.” 

To rephrase the question asked by my friend Phil, “Which God will travel with us in the coming months, the Omnipotent God, the All-powerful God, the God of Creation, or the God who chooses to embrace our brokenness?

Imagine believing only a broken God can understand the pathos of our condition. Imagine emerging ourselves into the brokenness of this world as a condition for restoration. If we can do this, we will be surprised in discovering God is already there.             

Amen.     


Sunday, April 19, 2020

Sunday after Easter

Scripture John 21:15-19


Last week we heard Mark’s account of the resurrection. The women found an empty tomb and mystifying instructions. They were to join Jesus in Galilee.  Death could not halt Jesus. Now the women are invited to join him in a Godly mission to save the world. Justifiably so, they were terrified. One moment these women were risking their lives to bury a friend. The next they were asked to expose their lives to save an enemy.   How many of us are up to that task? We conquer enemies. We vilify enemies. We do not invite them to dinner.  

Thank goodness there are four gospels. Each tells the same story……. Differently. Matthew is more the Law and Order gospel. Luke has a heart for the poor. Mark is very open ended. John tends to be a poet. Each gospel tells their story of who Jesus is. Unfortunately, through the years the world mostly hears who Jesus was. Note the difference in the verb tense. The Gospels all make the proclamation, “Jesus comes, Jesus loves, and Jesus says, Follow me and do the same.” Somewhere along the way the message became Jesus came, Jesus loved, believe and be saved.”

I know what you are thinking. Louie is spending way to much time in isolation thinking about stuff that no one else ever considers. Maybe that is true. But I’ve got to tell you the more I look at the Jesus of the gospels, the more I wonder if Jesus would even recognize himself should he wander into a church service on Sunday morning. I have hundreds of books from my library staring down at me proclaiming Jesus Christ, risen savior. Each tells me believing in Christ’s resurrection guarantees for my eternal salvation. Then I have four gospels, each telling the story of who Jesus is and who Jesus continues to be in my life today.

Last week we heard from Mark. Today let us look at the poet. Is there anyone of us who has not felt betrayed? We hardly expect the neighbor down the street to be thinking about our best interest, but what happens when a friend, or a family member, throws us under the bus. Words are spoken, feelings are hurt, and often the relationship appears to be permanently broken. Somewhere down the road, we throw a patch on our worn nerves but we know it is only a temporary fix. Eventually something else happens and once again, the relationship explodes. We want to trust people but once betrayed it is just too hard to start over.

Peter betrayed Jesus. Peter swore to follow Jesus anywhere yet when Jesus was arrested, a woman pointed Peter out and declared, “That man is one of the disciples.” Peter replied, “You have mistaken me for someone else.” That denial must have broken Jesus’ heart.

Jesus was taken to trial. Not one disciple spoke on his behalf. Jesus was beaten by soldiers. Not one disciple brought him water to drink. Jesus hung on the cross. Only one disciple stood at the foot of the cross as he died. Where was Peter? Where was the man renamed The Rock? Peter is nowhere to be found.

Easter comes. In John’s gospel, we have three post resurrection appearances. The last is along the lakeshore. The disciples went fishing. In one of the greatest fish stories of all time, they caught 153 fish in one net. Peter dragged the fish to shore and sat down to have a meal with Jesus. Imagine how awkward this conversation must have been. You don’t exactly have small talk with someone who has been dead for three days. Finally, Jesus breaks the ice, “Peter, do you love me?” Notice Jesus didn’t say, “Peter, why did you leave me?” He didn’t say, “Peter, why did you deny me?” He didn’t even say, “Peter, why didn’t you believe in me?” The question went straight to the heart. “Peter, do you love me?” 

Any other question Peter could have answered with the response we all have used, “Yes…. but.” “Yes I denied you but why should I have been arrested.” “Yes I left you but they would have killed me also.” “Yes I believe in you, but your way is so hard.” If someone asks, “Do you love me”, there are only two answers. Peter chose yes.

Then Jesus, the one betrayed, the one denied, the one forgotten, responded, “Then put those 153 fish to some good use. Follow me by feeding my sheep.”

A friend sent me a cartoon. Charlie Brown and Snoopy were sitting on a deck looking out at the water. Charlie Brown said, “Someday we all will die.” Snoopy responded, “That’s true, but on all the other days we will not.”

The Jesus that “was” too often has been given significance because he covers the last day of our life. But to the Jesus that “is”, the Jesus that resides in our hearts, the Jesus that continues to say, love your neighbor, feed the poor, the Jesus that says if you have been hurt or betrayed, YOU take the first step toward reconciliation, that Jesus says every day matters. That Jesus says, “If you love me, feed my sheep.” That Jesus says, “Follow me, not just to eternity, but follow me into the next moment, into the next room, into the next life.”

Resurrections are easy because believing does not cost us anything. But restorations? That is a whole new ball game. Restorations are hard and painful. Often they fail. But restoration is a Holy Labor. Funny how we always find the Jesus that “is” involved in acts of restoration, not one day a lifetime but every day of our lives. Follow and be restored.



Sunday, April 12, 2020

Easter Service


Scripture Mark 16:1-8


            “The women said nothing because they were terrified.”



            For Christians, Easter is THE Day! The flowers are in bloom, white shoes back in style, the choir belts out those over the top anthems as the preacher reshuffles old notes making them seem new by once again declaring “Christ is Risen”.   The congregation sings, “Hallelujah”, we retire to a wonderful dinner featuring Smithfield Ham then turn on the TV to watch the last nine holes of The Masters.  

            None of that will happen this year. Our lives, our faith, are stuck in Saturday.

            Holy Week follows a natural progression. On Palm Sunday Jesus comes into Jerusalem. The outsider dares to enter the inner ring. Those in charge are initially amused by this masquerade parading through the streets of Jerusalem. Jesus has no license.  He barely has a following. But as the crowds grow, paranoia increases. “Who is this clown from Galilee?  Why did Jesus pick this week to disrupt our lives?”

            By Thursday, the verdict has been reached. Even as Jesus gathers for a final meal his fate has been sealed. A bargain arranged, a kiss delivered, a messiah betrayed. Thursday bleeds into Friday. “Are you not the King of the Jews?” “Save yourself, you saved others.” Those who believed they were born for a lifetime of greatness declared this “king for a day” would not make it past three o’clock.       

The women, the only ones brave enough to show their faces, spent Saturday together. They waited to prepare the body. They mourned the loss of a friend. Perhaps they remembered the promises he had made, but probably not. Death has a way of limiting our vision. We remember, but we seldom project. Head stones always are marked by two dates.

            When the sun sat on the Sabbath, darkness entered the hearts of those women. They gathered their spices, said the prescribed prayers, and tried to sleep. Death creates an eternal rest for the departed but seldom offers sleep for those who mourn. The women waited for the dawn then walked toward the grave of their beloved. Saturday was behind them. What lay ahead was beyond their comprehension. How could they understand the narrative had been changed? The old way, the old world, had not just been interrupted, it had been transformed. But the women remained terrified.

            AND SO ARE WE! This is like no Easter we have ever experienced. For most folks Easter is a celebration of the beginning Spring. Few people actually practice Lent. Only a handful participates in Maundy Thursday. Good Friday elicits more debate than participation. But we all make it to church on Easter. We know how the story ends. We make jokes about seeing folks we hadn’t seen since Christmas. We sing the songs,

listen to the sermon, and joyously proclaim, “Christ has risen, he has risen indeed.” Maybe what we are subconsciously thinking is, “Spring has risen, Spring has risen indeed.” We can leave our homes. We can frolic in the sunshine. We can put away the canned green beans and anticipate fresh tomatoes and peaches. The birds are singing. The air is fresh. It is good to be alive.

            ONLY we can’t leave our homes. Spring has arrived, but death is about to crash down upon us. Maybe for the first time you are sitting alone on Easter Sunday. Maybe for the first time you understand why those women were terrified. Walking to that tomb each woman must have been thinking, “What am I going to do? What if I am discovered on the way to the tomb? I am afraid to talk to anyone. I should not have left my home. What if I am caught? Will I be put to death?”

            We have been captured by Saturday. We know Good Friday is real because each day the death toll mounts. We are told the pandemic will end but no one can give us any real answers. We choose our prophets and cling to their promises. “Things will be back to normal soon. Everything will be as good as it ever was. This will be the greatest resurrection of all time.” That is what the women were told. What do you think they really believed? All we know is they were terrified. Maybe that is a good thing.

            John Dominic Crossan in his commentary on Mark 16:1-8 claims the women were terrified because Anyone who understands what it means to be a disciple of Jesus is afraid. If you are not afraid, you don’t understand. Crossan stresses the challenge the call to discipleship represents. Jesus desires faithful disciples who are willing to walk through the darkness rather than comfortable Christians who want to glory triumphantly in the light. Crossan states, There is a stern challenge to the Markan community to prepare for the coming of the Lord through suffering, service, and mission in this world. Jesus, as portrayed in the Gospel of Mark, didn’t come to resurrect the dead. Jesus came to resurrect humanity. Jesus came to give hope and conquer despair. Jesus came to give life to those who knew only death. He stood against a rĂ©gime which manipulated through fear and it cost Jesus his life. But they could not kill his dream.

            Fear comes in many flavors. Initially these women feared being discovered. Jesus was dead. What was to stop the leaders of the synagogue from eliminating anyone who had associated with their Lord? Judas had betrayed Jesus. Maybe Peter was making a list of the faithful in order to save his life. No one was safe. Everyone was under suspicion. Today we look suspiciously at friends and neighbors. We practice social distancing. We religiously wash our hands as death creeps across the nation. We know the virus is coming. Fear dominates our lives.

            The women in our story also experienced a second fear. They were told, “He is not here. He will meet you in Galilee.” Everything changed. Jesus is alive. The new heaven is to begin right here. On Friday the kingdom of darkness, the kingdom of deceit, the kingdom of lies was victorious. Jesus had spoken a different truth. Jesus had practiced a different compassion. Jesus had promised a new kingdom. On Friday Jesus was killed. Hopes and dreams vanished. Survival was all that mattered and survival quickly led to compromise.  Walking to the tomb the women are afraid for their lives. But when they hear the words, “He will meet you in Galilee”, they are terrified by a memory. Months before Jesus had said, “One day I will ask you to pick up your cross and follow me.” They dismissed the words as poetic hyperbole. Now they knew where that cross was to be found. Jesus wanted them to resurrect humanity, and they were terrified.

In the next months Covid-19 will dissipated. Will we return to Friday? The news cycle will circulate stories on how those in charge either saved or failed us. We will quickly reestablish ourselves as red or blue tribes. From our pulpits we will declare that Easter has finally arrived. We will celebrate a victory while failing to acknowledge most of the deaths in America were disproportionately among the poor, people of color, and those with no health care. Then the word of the Lord will come. Jesus will meet us in Brooklyn, or Camden New Jersey, or North St. Louis, or Southside Chicago, or the Colonias along our Southwest border. Jesus will meet us where our rivers are poisoned and our skies blocked by smog. Jesus will meet us anywhere that we can begin to work toward a new heaven here on earth. And that terrifies us.

So here we sit, between Friday and Sunday. Here we sit, terrified of a virus and terrified of how God would have us respond once the quarantine is lifted.

 It is Saturday, but Sunday is coming. Whose cross will you pick up?     Amen.



Sunrise Service - Easter 2020



 

Concept – Many of us grew up participating in a Sunrise Service on Easter Morning. There was no formula used. Often this service was the most creative of the year because it was outside and celebrated with a small but energized community. The Corona virus has limited our size but not our imagination. Unlike the services I have been sending for the past few weeks, this service will have no electronic links. I hope you can worship outside. If not, pick a window with a favorite view. I will include the lyrics of songs we sing. If you don’t know the tune or cannot sing just read the words aloud. Remember, you are by yourself but you are not alone.

 

Begin – Find a Holy Space, hopefully facing the sunrise, and sit in silence. Remain silent until you are aware of the sounds around you. Listen for the rustle of the wind. Perhaps you will hear a bird. Listen to the music God gives us each day.

 

Sing – This is my Mother’s world and to my listening ears,

            All nature sings, and round me rings, the music of the spheres.

            This is my Mother’s world. I rest me in the thought,

            Of rocks and trees, of skies and seas, her hand the wonders wrought.

 

Prayer – O God, early in the morning you spoke creation into being. You gave us life in all its beauty. You gave birth to all we know. Hallowed be Your name.

 

Sing -  This is my Father’s world, O let me ne’er forget.

            That tho the wrong seems oft so strong, God is the ruler yet.

            This is my Father’s world, the battle is not done.

            Jesus who died shall be satisfied, and earth and heaven be one.

 

Prayer – O God, early in the morning, a voice in a graveyard proclaimed Jesus had risen. You came back despite what we believed. You came back giving life to all. Hallowed be Your name.

 

Scripture – (Paraphrase of Mark 16) – When the sun had risen three women approached the grave of Jesus. They came to anoint his body. Salome said to Mary, “Who will roll away the stone? It is surely too heavy for the three of us.” When they arrived, much to their surprise, the stone had already been rolled back. They entered the tomb and saw a young man dressed in a white robe. They were frightened. The young man softly said, “Do not be afraid. You are looking for Jesus of Nazareth. He is not here. God has raised him from death. Go tell the disciples Jesus will meet them in Galilee.”

            The women ran out of the tomb. Both terror and amazement seized them. They said nothing to anyone because they were afraid.

 

Sing – Someone’s fearful Lord, come by here.

            Someone’s trembling Lord, come by here.

            Someone’s silent Lord, come by here.

            O Lord, Kum Ba Yah.

 

Brief Commentary – Biblical stories do not exist to make us comfortable. They exist to make us think. They dare us to have a conversation with God. Mark’s account leaves too many holes that folks later felt a need to fill. Where was Jesus? Why were the women terrified? Why were they speechless? What happened next? Faith compels us to grapple with the unknown rather than be satisfied with answers someone else supplies. Lamar Williamson, a good friend and wonderful NT scholar asked this question. “When is an ending not an ending? When a dead man rises from the tomb and a gospel ends in the middle of a sentence.” Death seems to end the story of life. Resurrection with an appearance would bring closure to the Jesus story. Mark doesn’t give us that luxury. Only you can bring closure to your faith story.

 

Yes it is Easter Sunday. But we are surrounded by death. Ask the following questions out loud. Follow each question with a moment of silence:

            Where is God?

                       

Why am I so terrified?

                                   

Why do I have no answers?

                                               

What is going to happen next?

 

Sit quietly. Eliminate thoughts of fear with expressions of beauty.

Look at the trees. Hear the wind. Feel the heat of the sun. Allow the creation of Mother God to remind you what Father God continues to do.

Father, Mother, Son.

One in Three.

 

Sing  -  Be not afraid, I go before you always.

            Come, follow me. And I will give you rest.  (repeat as often as needed)

 

            Arise today.

Allow God’s might to uphold you.

            Allow God’s wisdom to guide you.

Allow God’s eye to look upon you.

            Allow God’s ear to hear you.

Allow God’s word of comfort to be heard by you.

Allow God to bless you near and afar.

 

Sing – In the bulb there is a flower, in the seed an apple tree;

In cocoons a hidden promise butterflies shall soon be free.

In the cold and snow of winter there’s a spring that waits to be;

Unrevealed until its season, something God alone can see.

 

In our end is our beginning, in our time infinity;

In our doubts, there is believing, in our life, eternity.

In our death, a resurrection, at the last a victory.

Unrevealed until its season, something God alone can see.      Amen.

Friday, April 10, 2020

Good Friday Service


Good Friday Service

 

Do this service in a darkish room. If you have candles, find seven of them. If not, pretend. DON’T RUN TO THE STORE OR YOUR NEIGHBORS FOR CANDLES.    ~Louie

 

Light all the candles – Read the poem The Crucifixion by James Weldon Johnson aloud.

 

Jesus, my gentle Jesus walking in the dark of the garden, the Garden of Gethsemane, “Sorrow is in my soul, Stay here with me a little while and watch with me.”

Jesus, my burdened Jesus, praying in the dark Garden, “Father, Oh, Father, this bitter cup, this bitter cup, let it pass from me.”

(Extinguish the first candle. Pray silently for a moment.)

 

Jesus, my sorrowing Jesus, the sweat like drops of blood on his brow. While the disciples slept he prayed, “Oh Father, not as I will, Not as I will, but thy will be done.”

Oh look at black-hearted Judas, sneaking through the garden, leading his crucifying mob. O God strike him down! Why don’t you strike him down before he plants his traitor’s kiss upon my Jesus’ cheek?

(Extinguish second candle. Pray silently for a moment.)

 

They take my blameless Jesus and drag him to the Governor, To the mighty Roman Governor, Great Pilate seated in his judgment hall. He said, “I find no fault in this man. And Pilate washed his hands.”

But the mob cried out, “Crucify Him! Crucify Him. His blood be on our heads.” They beat my Jesus, they spit on my precious Jesus. They dressed him in purple robes and put a crown of thorns on his head. They pressed it down, Oh they pressed it down and they mocked my sweet King Jesus.

(Extinguish third candle. Pray silently for a moment)

 

Up Golgotha’s rugged road I see my Jesus go. I see him sink beneath the load, I see my drooping Jesus sink. And then they laid hold on Simon, Black Simon, yes, Black Simon. They put the cross on Simon and Simon bore the cross.

(Extinguish the fourth candle. Pray silently for a moment)

 

On Calvary, On Calvary, they crucified my Jesus. They nailed him to the cruel tree, and the Hammer! The Hammer! The Hammer! rang through Jerusalem’s streets.  The HAMMER! The HAMMER! The HAMMER! Rang through Jerusalem’s streets.

Jesus, my lamb-like Jesus, shivering as the nails go through his hands. Jesus my lamb-like Jesus, shivering as the nails go through his feet. Jesus, my darling Jesus, Groaning as the Roman spear plunged in his side. Jesus, my darling Jesus, groaning as the blood came spurting from his wound.  O look what they have done to my Jesus.     

(Extinguish the fifth candle. Pray silently for a moment)

Mary, weeping Mary, sees her poor little Jesus on the cross. Mary, weeping Mary, sees her sweet baby Jesus on the cruel cross, hanging between two thieves.

And Jesus, my lonesome Jesus, called out once more to his Father, “My God. My God, Why have you forsaken me?” And he dropped his head and died.

(Extinguish the sixth candle. Pray silently for a moment.)

 

And the veil of the temple was split in two; The midday sun refused to shine. The thunder rumbled and the lightning wrote an unknown language in the sky. What a day! Lord what a day! When my blessed Jesus died. O I tremble, yes I tremble, when I think how Jesus died. Died on the steps of Calvary for sinners like you and me.

 (Extinguish the seventh candle. Listen to the following.)

 


 

Prayer –

            O God, the man we did not notice yesterday died today and left us alone. Forgive us for not being able to see.       Amen.

 

 

Thursday, April 9, 2020

Maundy Thursday Service


 

For some, Easter Sunday seems incomplete without Maundy Thursday/Good Friday. We cannot come to the church so I thought I might offer something that might help fill the void. ~Louie

 

Maundy Thursday Service

Before beginning the experience, you will need a glass, (wine glass if you desire), wine or beverage of your choosing, a cracker or slice of bread. This service will take place in your kitchen or dining room. It is designed for one or two people. Please don’t invite your neighbors. Practice social distancing at all times. (If your computer is not portable, use the table upon which your computer sits.)

 

Prayer –

It is not proper that I come to this table alone, but I have no place else to go.

            It is not right that I break the bread and pour the wine alone, but I shall.

            I do not know the words, but I shall discover them.

            Put your seal on my soul.

            Put your voice on my lips.

            You are my vision,

You are the Lord of my heart.  Amen.

 

Remembering Passover


 

Commentary – The Passover Meal began as an act of defiance that led to liberation. In the midst of death, Yahweh offered life. How appropriate that Jesus’ last meal was The Passover. In remembering The Exodus, Jesus envisioned a way where no way seemed possible. When the meal was finished, Jesus took the bread, lifted the cup, and said “Remember Me”.

 


 

Commentary – When we remember Jesus, we take a moment to forget Pharaoh, forget death, even forget the corona virus.  None of those things go away, yet if we don’t take a moment to go inward, we become swamped by a feeling of helplessness. The greatest tool of tyrants, death, and viruses is the ability to make us feel useless. The bread, the cup, defies that reasoning. When we remember Jesus, we also remember nothing is impossible. When we remember Jesus, we remember a loved one. When we remember Jesus, we remember someone who needs our prayers. Listen to this song by Mary Gauthier as you prepare to defy Pharaoh.

 


 

Communion –

Take the bread/cracker, break it, eat it, and say a prayer for someone you love.

Take the Cup –Fill it with your favorite beverage. Say a prayer for someone who needs some mercy. Drink.

Sit in Silence. Allow the love of God to wash over you.       Amen.

 

Sunday, April 5, 2020

Palm Sunday

 No week is more important to the Christian faith than this one. On a normal year we would begin the week by the waving of the Palms. We would follow Jesus into Jerusalem where he lifted up children and berated the religious elite. We would go to the Upper Room, the Garden, and the Throne Room of Pilate. We would cringe at the words, “Crucify Him”, “We have no King but Caesar”, “Forgive them”, “It is finished”. Then we would wait for the rising of the sun/son on Easter Morning. Holy Week fills us with wonder, pain, agony and joy. As a community of faith, we replay each event as if we were there. But this year we seem so alone.

 

Your wonderful choir had planned to offer you a gift this Palm Sunday. A few years ago we performed The Passion of St. John. We had hoped to do it once again. Kathleen and Tom had begun rehearsals when social distancing became part of our vocabulary. Thankfully the original was recorded. I invite you to listen once again.