Lent Day 40: Holy Saturday and the Harrowing of Hell

"Christ in Limbo" by Fra Angelico, c. 1430.

When I was a child, Holy Saturday was very much "in-between time." Lent was not over--the self-denials and disciplines that made up the life of faith in our household were very much in place until after the Easter Vigil. * 

But something had shifted. The experience of Good Friday worship (which, for us, included the Stations of the Cross, complete with incense and Gregorian chant) had moved us into and, to a certain extent, through the grief which is ritualized in Holy Week observances. I remember walks on the boardwalk with my mother, the soothing sound of the ocean always a sign to me that something bigger was happening than I could ever understand or control.

As an adult I encountered other ways of thinking about Holy Saturday. Many years ago my friend Yvonne preached one of the Seven Last Words on Good Friday, and her meditation was entirely about Christ in his tomb. She envisioned it as a womb--that something was gestating, something would be born--but we could only, so far, see death.

Later still, I encountered the theology of the Harrowing of Hell. Merriam-Webster defines "harrow" as "a cultivating tool with spikes, teeth, or discs, and used primarily for breaking up and smoothing the soil." This makes sense in terms of the usual use of the word today: "...a harrowing experience," something that digs at you, roils you. But in the theological usage, it refers to Christ's descent into hell (or limbo, or whatever the land of the dead might be) to bring salvation to souls stuck there from the beginning of time.

This is problematic theology, to say the least. That God would create human beings with a finite lifespan and subject them to unavoidable eternities of torment (or even a neutral holding pen for millennium upon millennium) prior to salvation... I'm not buying it. This is the kind of thing that gives rise to crazy assertions like "Moses was a Christian," because he must have been because otherwise God would never have let him into heaven.

Bollocks.

And yet, Good Friday does matter. It is important. It's important to us. 

Rev. Daniel Brereton (@RevDaniel), a wonderful Twitter colleague, posted this on Good Friday:

Jesus didn't go to the cross to change God's mind about us, but to change our mind about God.

In the crucifixion Jesus demonstrates for us the nature of God's love for us--a love that gives extravagantly, gives its very life, that experiences what we experience, that suffers with us, that doesn't leave us alone in our suffering and grief. 

Another wonderful online colleague, Rev. Maren Tirabassi (https://www.facebook.com/maren.tirabassi), imagined Jesus in the underworld on Holy Saturday, preaching the Good News to our favorite biblical heroes, heroines, antiheroes and antiheroines. And there is something here about the kindness and tenderness of God's love for us that moves me beyond the unfathomable theology of the harrowing to remind me, in the words of Rickie Lee Jones, 

...there is no sorrow heaven cannot heal
a fire within, no cross, no crown...

Here is Maren's poem.

Prayer for an Illumination of the Harrowing by Maren Tirabassi

God, I can just see them there
listening to Jesus preach
that mighty Saturday sermon –

Sarah and Hagar leaning in to each other
on a dusty old pew.

Ruth is hand in hand with both
Boaz and Mahlon,
like children at a Sunday school picnic,
but she has eyes only for Naomi.

Absalom with his amazing hair,
untangled from the oak tree,

desalinated Lot’s wife, Ham, Bilhah,
Rahab with her red cord, 

Cyrus of Persia,
and a prostitute’s baby whose true home
was Solomon’s judgment call --

they are next to John the Baptist,
who hasn’t been gone that long.

We see David and Jonathan,

Elijah reunited with the widow
he liked so well,

Saul, Samuel and the witch,
an eternal triangle,

Miriam and Moses’ wife not quite BFFs --
but no room for prejudice in hell.

Most of them have names
we do not know and never will –

but they were some daddy’s baby,
some grandma’s pride --
best at the hundred yard dash
through the Red Sea,
singing psalms, stamping grapes,
playing whales-and-jonahs
till they were called in
for a bedtime story of long ago.

They are all listening
like the people we love who have died,
hearts hanging on his every word,
like their death depends on it.

Whatever my concept of this day is, it is good to be reminded of signs that something bigger is happening than I could ever understand or control.

Whatever your concept of this day is: be gentle with yourself. Grief can be a lifetime project, and it may need your attention today. And enjoy this song. It really is the right song for Holy Saturday.

* Easter Vigil was the first mass of Easter. Observed now in many Christian denominations--including Presbyterians-- it is a service that takes place on Saturday night, in which the first flame of the resurrection is kindled. It told the story of salvation through a series of readings beginning with the story of disobedience in the garden, ending with Magdalene encountering the Lord in another garden.

Lent Day 39: Good Friday and Grief

A busy day yesterday didn't permit me time to post, and I am sorry for that. Here's the meditation I shared during our Maundy Thursday worship; the video of the service is available here.

Now we come to the Friday we call "Good," a concept that can be hard to explain to people who don't know our religion well, but do understand that this is the day our prophet/ the one we believe to have a connection with God unlike any other human being was put to death. A brutal death. 

Crucifixion was the epitome of Rome's brutality. Though our Christian scriptures describe a process that took three hours, it was much more common for it to take days. The bodies of the crucified were left on the crosses until the scavenger birds picked their bones clean. The unremitting cruelty of it, the torture the victims underwent, was a feature, as they say, and not a bug. Rome designed it this way, because it was the penalty for ultimate crime. the worst possible crime, in their eyes: insurrection. For Rome, those who dared to claim power in opposition to Rome, or whose political activities might undermine Rome in any way. were the criminals deserving of the worst punishment. 

Jesus' crime was a political one, though Christians love to claim otherwise. We love to say that Jesus was not political. His execution states that he was. The inscription the procurator had attached to the cross stated "The King of the Jews." This was the problem. This was the crime: not even, necessarily, that he claimed the title, but that others claimed it for him.

Every year we observe this week and we re-enact these steps:

Palm Sunday, a day of promise and joy, a day when the idea of Jesus as King might just fly.

Maundy Thursday, a night when Jesus knows his death is imminent. Jesus gathers those he loves and knows best, and he knows one of them is about to hand him over. The grief begins here, with the knowledge of betrayal. It is no wonder that Jesus intones, "Remember me."

On Good Friday our grief comes into full bloom. Tonight the church I serve will host a Tenebrae, the Service of the Lengthening Shadows, as we read seven passages of scripture detailing the arrest, trial, and crucifixion of Jesus. As the service begins, we see a large candelabra with seven lit candles. After each passage is read, a candle is extinguished. The fullness of the grief is expressed with the tolling of a bell, with the church in deep shadow, almost darkness.

Today is a day (and yesterday was, too) when we might notice our grief. Grief about and within the Jesus story, of course. But other grief as well. Grief calls up grief--new losses or even ritualized losses, as we have in Holy Week, remind us, unearth, and air afresh even our most ancient sorrows. (I have just spent nearly an hour talking about the primal wound of adoption.) 

As everyone has grief of some kind or other, whether old or new, this is a day and time to be gentle with ourselves. If grief rises up, respect it. Honor it. Cherish it as the evidence of love--even complicated love--it surely is.

Today's devotional card from A Sanctified Art reads, 

On the
worst
days of
our lives,
we are
not alone.

Whatever your faith tells you about this day and what it means--the salvific action, the rescue of humanity, a downer before we get to the fun of Sunday--I always come back to this: In Jesus God showed the fullest possibly solidarity with humanity, the fullest possible communion with us. There is no pain we can feel that God was not willing to participate in, not as our punisher, but as a suffering sibling.

On the worst days of our lives, we are not alone. God is with us. 

Lent Day 37: Wednesday in Holy Week: Anointing and Discipleship

Wednesday in Holy Week is known as "Spy Wednesday," something I learned at college when given a book of poetry by the poet, Francis Sullivan. It was called "Spy Wednesday's Kind," and examined, among other things, the urge to betrayal. 

It is on Wednesday that Judas makes his move, approaching the authorities, making a play to hand Jesus over to them. But he is prompted to do this--in the gospels of John and Matthew as well as Mark--by an extraordinary act of devotion and witness: Jesus is anointed by an unnamed woman. (My sermon on John's version can be found here.)

While he was at Bethany in the house of Simon the leper, as he sat at the table, a woman came with an alabaster jar of very costly ointment of nard, and she broke open the jar and poured the ointment on his head. But some were there who said to one another in anger, “Why was the ointment wasted in this way?  For this ointment could have been sold for more than three hundred denarii, and the money given to the poor.” And they scolded her.  But Jesus said, “Let her alone; why do you trouble her? She has performed a good service for me. For you always have the poor with you, and you can show kindness to them whenever you wish; but you will not always have me. She has done what she could; she has anointed my body beforehand for its burial. Truly I tell you, wherever the good news is proclaimed in the whole world, what she has done will be told in remembrance of her.”
~Mark 14:3-9, NRSV

There is no long introduction to the action; it happens in a single verse, without fanfare. I imagine Mark wants to convey how startling this moment was.

Part of this is how quickly it happens.

Another part of this is the woman's anonymity. We don't know whether she was a member of Simon's household, or whether she was one of the women who followed Jesus and supported his ministry. She is a cipher, and perhaps that is intentional. Perhaps the evangelist wants us to be able to imagine anyone doing this. Perhaps they want us to be able to imagine ourselves.

A single verse for the action--breaking an alabaster jar open, pouring the ointment on Jesus' head. Anointing him as a king might be anointed, or a prophet, or a priest. (Two of the evangelists have the woman anointing Jesus' head; the other two have her anointing his feet.)

A single verse for the anointing. Then, the rest of the story, devoted to angry opposition. Identified only as "some who were there," it's clear that more than one person was angry. They very reasonably point out that this was an extravagant action--in their mind, a waste of money. A denarius is a Roman coin that represents a day's wages for a day-laborer. In other words, this is nearly a year's wages for the working poor of Jesus' day, now trickling down Jesus' back, and into his ears, and getting on his clothing, and perhaps the pillows on which he is reclining. 

Wouldn't it have been better spent on the poor?

Jesus has his eyes on the poor, as well as his healing hands and the bread he breaks and shares with them on a regular basis. Jesus has what liberation theologians have called "a preferential option for the poor," and, reading the beatitudes, it's hard to disagree with that understanding. "Blessed" are the poor, maybe because they will never labor under the delusion that they can buy their way into the kingdom of heaven. Jesus sees them, as I blogged yesterday, these people who are largely invisible to the rest of us, and from whom we often have an urge to turn away. 

But Jesus doesn't turn away from them, and it irks him to hear them used in this argument. 

If Jesus sees the poor clearly, then, in this action of anointing, the unnamed woman sees Jesus clearly. I think she may be one of his followers: by his interpretation of her actions, she has been listening to him. By this time in Mark's gospel Jesus has predicted his own death three times. The disciples--the male disciples--have tried not to hear this, done the equivalent of sticking their fingers in their ears and singing, "la la la la la."

But, Jesus says, "She has anointed me for my burial." She sees Jesus. She has heard Jesus. She understands what he is saying. She believes him. And the only thing that makes sense to her is to honor his conviction that this is happening. 

She has done what she could. She has been his witness, and has engaged in a prophetic action of affirming his mission. 

We can both care for the poor and honor Jesus' mission. We don't have to choose between this. in fact, caring for the poor is honoring Jesus' mission. We can do both.

The unnamed woman has done what she could, and Jesus predicts this blogpost. Wherever the good news is proclaimed, in this whole world, this story will be told in remembrance of her.

She has done what she could. So may we all.

Mary Magdalene by Dante Gabriel Rosetti, 1877.
No, no gospel says that she anointed Jesus.
But this is the 1500-year-old tradition.
So that's what the paintings are titled.

Lent Day 36: Tuesday in Holy Week: A Living Parable

The Poor Widow, Maarten de Vos, 1602 *

Tuesday of Holy Week encompasses nearly three chapters of the gospel of Mark. There is much to choose from.  Let's meditate upon the story we call "The Widow's Mite." Scripture can be found here.

If you'd asked, I'm not sure I could have told you that this moment in Jesus' ministry takes place during Holy Week, but here it is, tucked in among his complaints about the religious authorities, his predictions of the Temple's destruction, and what sound an awful lot like apocalyptic musings. (Spoiler was there all along: a portion of this is called "the little apocalypse.")

The scene begins with a bitter complaint against the scribes--a passage that always makes this religious-figure-wearing-a-long-robe-while-reading-it cringe just a little. We do like our robes, I'm not gonna lie.

Jesus says, 

“Beware of the scribes, who like to walk around in long robes, and to be greeted with respect in the marketplaces, and to have the best seats in the synagogues and places of honor at banquets! They devour widows’ houses and for the sake of appearance say long prayers. They will receive the greater condemnation.”

Jesus condemns religious leaders who enrich themselves, and in the process bankrupt those who have little to begin with. This passage transfers seamlessly to late 20th-early 21st century American Christianity; just substitute "televangelists" for "scribes" and you're good to go.

This is the essential background for understanding what happens next. Jesus seats himself near the treasury, so that he can see who gives and how much. And to be sure, lots of money is being ostentatiously given by wealthy patrons of the Temple. Then, a poor widow--see above--puts in two small copper coins.

For years I read Jesus' words as words of praise of the widow--"She gave all she had." I preached sermons containing meaningful stories of people with very little who managed to give generously. My favorite was about a guy who lived on the money he got from collecting recyclable cans, who still gave the youth group $20 towards their can drive. "He gave us 400 cans," I said, as I preached this story from the heart.

Now I'm pretty sure I got that terribly, terribly wrong. Now, I hear the echo of "devouring widows' houses" in Jesus' remarks about the poor widow. Now, I hear Jesus' voice thick with tears, because he knows the widow is literally sacrificing herself on the altar of someone else's greed, and it sickens him.

Now I think of the widow as a living parable, not about her own generosity, but about the greed that demands it of her, in the name of her faith, in the name of piety. Now, I believe Jesus is angry about it. And he's right.

If you have a moment, look at the image of the poor widow. See if you can spot her. She's dimly lit, in darkness, because we would really rather not see her. But that's what Jesus does; he sees people. He sees those the rest of us turn away from. 

Maarten de Vos got it in 1602. He understood exactly what this parable is about. 

We know who will receive the greater condemnation.

* Image: Vos, Maarten de, 1532-1603. Poor Widow, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=56664 [retrieved April 12, 2022]. Original source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Maerten_de_Vos_-_The_poor_widow.jpg. Used with permission.

Lent Day 35: Monday in Holy Week: The Fig Tree

Then they came to Jerusalem. And he entered the temple and began to drive out those who were selling and those who were buying in the temple, and he overturned the tables of the money changers and the seats of those who sold doves; and he would not allow anyone to carry anything through the temple. He was teaching and saying, “Is it not written,

‘My house shall be called a house of prayer for all the nations’?
     But you have made it a den of robbers.”

And when the chief priests and the scribes heard it, they kept looking for a way to kill him; for they were afraid of him, because the whole crowd was spellbound by his teaching.  And when evening came, Jesus and his disciples went out of the city.

~Mark 11:15-19

The gospel of Mark provides a pretty clear day-by-day description of Jesus' comings and goings in the days after Jesus' arrival in Jerusalem. Mark's gospel is the earliest in the canon of scripture, closest in time to the earthly ministry of Jesus. Mark places the cleansing of the Temple on Monday.

This must have been a shocking event for the people of Jerusalem. The people loved and revered the Temple. It was considered God's literal home on earth. They supported it with their offerings.

But it appears that Jesus sees the practices of buying and selling in the Temple as a worldly presence in what should be an other-worldly place, pure and dedicated only to the worship of God. 

Recently a member of the congregation I served expressed discomfort with the fact that she was selling homemade jam in the back of the church. Was this akin to the presence of the buyers and sellers in the Temple? The proceeds were going to the One Great Hour of Sharing offering, which supports the Presbyterian Hunger Program, Presbyterian Disaster Assistance, and the program for the Self-Development of People. I assured her that her motives meant everything.

But surely the motives of the people selling animals for worship and changing unacceptable Roman coin for the Temple currency are also worth considering? The Temple was a place for sacrifices-- that was its purpose-- sacrifices designed and believed to make right the relationships between God and God's people. It's interesting to note that the seats for those who traded doves were overturned. Doves were the acceptable offerings of the poor, who could not afford the larger animals required.

In the next chapter of Mark, Jesus accuses the Temple authorities of stealing from the people, and he specifically names poor widows as those who are harmed, as their "houses are devoured" by those in charge. 

Context is everything, of course. And verses before and after the cleansing of the Temple concern a fig tree.

On the following day [Monday], when they came from Bethany, he was hungry. Seeing in the distance a fig tree in leaf, he went to see whether perhaps he would find anything on it. When he came to it, he found nothing but leaves, for it was not the season for figs.He said to it, “May no one ever eat fruit from you again.” And his disciples heard it...

...In the morning [Tuesday] as they passed by, they saw the fig tree withered away to its roots. Then Peter remembered and said to him, “Rabbi, look! The fig tree that you cursed has withered.” 

~Mark 11:12-14, 20-21

When a story is broken up, with another story disrupting it, we think of it as a "sandwich story;" scholars call it an inclusio. The story that makes up the "bread" of the sandwich is definitely related to the story that makes up the filling.

Jesus comes upon a fig tree, and he is hungry, but the fig has no fruit to offer. In what seems like a fit of pique, he curses it. The next day, as he and his disciples pass by, they can see that the curse has taken effect. 

What does it all mean? Does the biblical adage, "By their fruits you shall know them" apply? By enclosing the story of Jesus cleansing the Temple with a story about a fig tree that doesn't live up to its purpose, is the evangelist offering commentary on Jesus' attitude toward the Temple? That by its fruits we can see that it is not living up to its purpose?

We Christians have two thousand years of death-dealing anti-semitism to account for--to atone for, to make reparations for. Despite the plain text of the Christian Testament, we must be cautious when interpreting what can amount to anti-semitism in our texts. The text about the cleansing above (as well as the one I read aloud in church yesterday) attributes deadly motives to the Temple authorities. Millions of Jews have been murdered for the past two thousand years in outrage over such allegations.

Was the Temple not living up to its highest purposes? Maybe a better question is: is the church living up to its highest purposes? By our fruits, will people know that we intend to share the love of God as we see it reflected in Jesus Christ? If any word we write or preach or teach leads anyone to consider Jews less-than or no longer embraced by God as God's people, we are utterly failing, and we are a fig tree that ought to be cursed.

Maybe the best response to a text that seems to critique a place or manner of worship is to look at our own places and manner of worship. Are we bearing good fruit? Do our worship and witness convey the essential truth, that God is love?

"Tree of Hope" by Julie Leuthold *

* Leuthold, Julie. Tree of Hope, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=57033 [retrieved April 11, 2022]. Original source: https://www.flickr.com/photos/julieleuthold/7521645058 - Julie.

Lent Day 33: Where do you find joy? Part 2: Entertainment

I really do love the PCUSA Daily Prayerbook. Members of committees and boards in the congregation I serve are used to me waving the book at them prior to reading a prayer to kick off or close a meeting. One of the things I particularly love about it is the way the days of the week are themed. For example, Thursday prayers mention the ministry of Word and Sacrament, the affection of our friends, and our call to love and care for one another... all things that connect with Maundy Thursday, a day (night) on which friends gathered around a table, a Sacrament was instituted, and Jesus exemplified love and caring as he washed his disciples' feet.

The themes of Saturday are related to weekend-things... ministries of music and the arts, time for rest and recreation, but also the burden of addiction (which so often becomes more visible in weekend activities). 

The prayers begin with expressions of gratitude. One of these is "those who enlighten and entertain."

I come from a family of artists and entertainers. Both my adult children have pursued careers in theater in various ways; their dad works with symphony orchestras. My partner helps people to adorn their homes with the art and photographs they love. Even I tried my hand (ever so briefly) at singing professionally when I was in my twenties. All of us place value on the arts and entertainment--not in the abstract, but in the specific ways artists, actors, musicians hold a mirror up to life--the good, the bad, and the ugly-- and show us our humanity, or lack thereof. My children and I love to experience a play or movie or TV show together, and then talk about it at length, in detail, analyzing the choices directors and actors make, sharing our excitement at the things that really pop for us, shaking our heads sadly at near misses.

So, I love all these things. And seeing them, taking them in, and then pulling them apart with those who experience them with me, is a real joy. 

Last night a friend and I shared dinner and then saw a great local production of "Jesus Christ Superstar," a play I have loved since my mom bought me the concept album when I was eleven. I was a Catholic schoolkid who was pretty into the rosary and Mary and wanted to be a nun now and then, so, suffice to say, this music / musical was a kind of emotional and spiritual explosion. I had never heard anybody talk about Jesus like Judas (who, let's admit, is the star of the show, title notwithstanding. It is his journey that we are following with rapt attention, and that makes sense. He stands in for us, in many ways.) 

The first words of the opening song are, "My mind is clearer now." 

And you know what? Because of the brilliance of Andrew Lloyd Weber and Tim Rice, my mind was clearer, in the sense that I got to witness a struggle with doubt (Judas') that had been presented to me one-dimensionally. I got to witness Jesus with all his humanity on view (which, let's be frank, isn't typically well-presented, no matter what our theology tells us about fully God/ fully human. I am happy to report that last night's Judas knocked it out of the park.). I got to witness various disciples and their points of view and political sympathies and limitations. No matter what you think of how Rice and Weber use the gospel of John (which is their main source), the presentation of the Jesus story here is a revelation. That revelation is: There is more than one way to look at this. Even if the rock opera doesn't move the needle on your theology one point, anyone who allows themselves to take this in is enriched by the beauty of someone taking a story and telling it through music and song.

All this is my reaction to the album. Imagine what happened to me when I saw the movie.

Here's what happened. My favorite song went from "I Don't Know How to Love Him" (which, today, isn't even one of my top five favorite songs from the show) to "Gethsemane (I Only Want to Say)." Why? because of Norman Jewison's brilliant direction which has Jesus climbing the Mount of Olives while he is singing to God, begging God to let him live.

I only want to say
if there is a way
take this cup away from me,
'cause I don't want to taste its poison,
feel it burn me.
I have changed.
I'm not as sure
as when we started...

This passage of scripture is generally called "the agony in the garden." Interestingly, this is one place where Rice / Weber depart significantly from John's gospel--Jesus is in agony in Matthew, Mark, and Luke. In the gospel of John, he is not only resolved, but eerily eager to go to his death, which he calls his "glory."

Not here. Here, Rice / Weber embrace Jesus' humanity and fear (and the three synoptic tellings of this moment), and the climb is the embodiment of that. He is trying to reach out to God, climbing toward the invisible and, in this moment, silent Deity. He climbs higher and higher, his distress increasing with the altitude. At the apex of both his climb and the music ("Alright! I'll die!") the camera leaves the actor, Ted Neeley, and we see, instead, images of paintings of the crucifixion, as the time signature of the music jolts from 4/4 into 5/4, a rhythm that the listener feels in their body because, in that moment, it's so unexpected and off-balance. It heightens the horror. God either doesn't hear or won't respond.

I've never heard that song in the same way again. Now it slays me emotionally, all because a director and an actor and a production designer used the music and lyrics in a brilliant way to show us what agony looks like. It is imprinted on my soul.

This. Gives. Me. Joy. A well-made film or TV show, a well-produced play engages the senses, awakens the critical faculties, pierces the emotions, captures the viewer /listener, and gives them an experience they can't shake (and often, don't want to).

Here. You'll see what I mean. Entertainment like this gives me joy. What entertainment is flooding you with endorphins today?

 

Lent Day 32: Where do you find joy? Part 1: Music

I've noticed something in this late-stage pandemic time we are in--not to mention, for those of us of the clergy persuasion, this late-stage Lenten moment as we approach Holy Week. 

We are all looking for joy. We are using phrases like "comfort food" (and not only when referring to, you know, food). We are asking one another how we are doing, and it has me wondering: Where do you find joy these days? I know my daughter and I are making playlists on our phones titled things like "The Joy of Spring" and "Roll Credits" (as in, the movie's over, and you LOVED IT). 

I think I'll talk about music today. How I Find Joy In Music.

I am a musical omnivore. You will find me listening, in the same day, to Toto, Etta James, the Indigo Girls, Ella Fitzgerald, David Bowie, the Bright Wings Chorus, Smokey Robinson and the Miracles, and Emmanuel Ax. (This represents a true, actual day.)

Recently I've been listening to a playlist called "Winter Comfort Music," which consists mostly of music from the Ted Lasso soundtrack. (Ted Lasso is another day. He gets an entire blogpost to himself, because of the joy that show has brought me.)

So, in the space of an hour I'll be listening to Lizzo singing "Juice," Bowie and Mercury singing "Under Pressure," Dusty Springfield singing "Wishing and Hoping" (which I forever will associate with the opening credits of "My Best Friend's Wedding," another long-standing source of joy), and a completely new to me offering, "Harmony Hall" by Vampire Weekend, which is on repeat these days. (Try it, you'll like it, I promise.)

I may be a bit of a weirdo, but a song doesn't have to be a happy song to make me happy. Take Toto. This week I've listened to "Hold the Line" roughly 27 times. It's definitely about a difficult/ complicated/ failing relationship. But it doesn't matter, because the opening percussive piano triplets, and then the heavy-metal-sounding guitar licks are designed to release endorphins. (For me, at least. I don't make the rules.) Same with "Harmony Hall"--I can't quite make out what the song is about, but, again, that piano bop that precedes the chorus each time just makes me dance, wherever I am. (I just looked the song up on Wikipedia--they say that the lyrics cause feelings of dread. That may be! But they don't bother me!)

Recently I heard my colleague Chris play the daylights out of my very favorite classical piano piece ever, Brahms' Intermezzo, Opus 118, No. 2. I've known the piece since I was in college, and I hadn't listened to it in a few years. But the first few very dearly familiar notes instantly sent joy surging through me...and I will concede, it's a melancholy-bordering-on-heartbroken kind of sound. But its luscious harmonies, and the path it travels from beginning to end are mesmerizing and glorious, and it simply makes me happy.

Sometimes, though, the perfect mesh of music and lyrics does make a big, big difference. An odd entry in the "it makes me happy" category has to be "There's a Wideness in God's Mercy," Episcopal Hymnal edition (Hymn tune St. Helena). I have never warmed to the one in the Presbyterian Hymnal (probably because I knew the other one first; primacy matters). It's a weird, off-kilter kind of melody, but kind of haunting. The other one sounds sing-songy to me, like a nursery rhyme, and doesn't seem to fit the lyrics AT ALL. But the switching time signatures, and the restlessness of the key signature, all convey to me exactly what the lyrics convey. God is kind and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love, and that weirds us out and throws us off balance, as the song does. Listening to it has become a part of my daily prayer practice in Lent.

TL/DR, music gives me joy, and I put on repeat the things that are causing the endorphins to surge. Listen to two of my current faves below.

What music gives you joy?

Lent Day 30: A Meditation Upon the Palm Sunday Gospel

A reading from the Gospel according to Luke, chapter 19, verses 28 through 40, from The Message by Brian McLaren. 

And a meditation.

After saying these things, Jesus headed straight up to Jerusalem. 

What do you see? 

Jesus on the road…his face set for Jerusalem, his destination for a long time now. He knows what is waiting for him there. 

What expression do you see on Jesus’ face? 

Is he tired? 

Is he determined? 

Is he frightened? 

Is he hopeful? 

When he got near Bethphage (which means, House of unripe figs) and Bethany (which means either House of Ananias, or House of the Poor) at the mountain called Olives, he sent off two of the disciples with instructions: “Go to the village across from you. As soon as you enter, you’ll find a colt tethered, one that has never been ridden. Untie it and bring it. If anyone says anything, asks, ‘What are you doing?’ say, ‘His Master needs him.’”

The two left and found it just as he said. As they were untying the colt, its owners said, “What are you doing untying the colt?”

They said, “His Master needs him.”

What do you see? Which disciples do you imagine Jesus sent? 

Did he send two brothers?

Was it Peter and Andrew? John and James?

Was one of them Thomas? Or maybe Philip?

Bartholomew? James the son of Alphaeus? 

What do you see?

What is the look on their faces?

Are they excited?

Are they worried?

Are they resolute?

Are they curious?

And the colt… what about him? or her? 

What color, do you imagine? Donkey brown, donkey grey? 

How young a colt? 

Is it frisky? Skittish? 

Do the disciples look like they’ve handled a donkey before?

Does the colt react when he hears the phrase, 

His Master needs him.

They brought the colt to Jesus. 

Then, throwing their coats on its back, they helped Jesus get on. 

What do you see? 

How does Jesus greet this young colt?

Take a moment to see his gentleness. To see the animal trusting him.

How does this young colt respond to Jesus climbing on him?

Take a moment to see the colt respond to the unfamiliar weight,

and then, go on his way.

As he rode, the people gave him a grand welcome, throwing their coats on the street.

Right at the crest, where Mount Olives begins its descent, the whole crowd of disciples burst into enthusiastic praise over all the mighty works they had witnessed:

“Blessed is he who comes,

    the king in God’s name!

All’s well in heaven!

    Glory in the high places!”

What do you see? 

The people placed their coats on the road.

What does that mean to you? 

What do you think it meant to Jesus?

What do you hear?

Do you hear the excited crowd talking amongst themselves?

Do you hear the singing… do you hear the music? 

What does it sound like?

Is it solemn? Is it joyous? Is it humble? Is it regal? 

Some Pharisees from the crowd told him, “Teacher, get your disciples under control!”

But he said, 

“If they kept quiet, the stones would do it for them, shouting praise.”

We have been taught to think of the Pharisees as being a thorn in Jesus’ side. 

But just a few chapters ago, in the gospel of Luke, 

the Pharisees tried to save Jesus from Herod, who wanted to kill him.

What do you hear?

How do you hear their words now? 

Is it possible they think he’s in danger? 

Is it possible they are trying to save Jesus again?

Now, hear Jesus’ words again. 

“If they kept quiet, the stones would do it for them, shouting praise.”

What is the look on Jesus’ face as he speaks these words?

Is it solemn? 

Is it joyous?

Is it humble?

Is it regal?

Take a moment to take it all in… the whole scene… 

from donkey acquisition,

to Jesus riding

to coats flapping

to the crowd singing

to the Pharisees warning

to Jesus responding.

“If they kept quiet, the stones would do it for them, shouting praise.”

Take it all in.

What did you see? 

What did you hear?

What will you pray?

Lorenzetti, Pietro, active 1320-1348. Entry into Jerusalem, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=55432 [retrieved April 5, 2022]. Original source: http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Assisi-frescoes-entry-into-jerusalem-pietro_lorenzetti.jpg.

Lent Day 28: The Women Who Anointed Jesus Part 3

Jesus' anointing in the Gospel According to John has much in common with the versions found in Matthew and Mark:

• The Bethany location (though, it is the home of Martha, Mary, and their brother Lazarus; and not Simon the leper).
• The presence of costly ointment/ nard.
• The "J'accuse!" moment with Judas over the waste of something so costly, and the appeal to Jesus' preferential option for the poor. 

It also has one key element in common with Luke's version: the anointing of Jesus' feet (rather than his head, as in Matthew and Mark).

But the details of the fourth gospel's presentation stand out as incredibly important in the story.

1. This is not an anonymous woman. She has a name: Mary. (Given... so many Marys.) This is a family with whom Jesus has a prior connection, one revealed in chapter 11:

Now a certain man was ill, Lazarus of Bethany, the village of Mary and her sister Martha. Mary was the one who anointed the Lord with perfume and wiped his feet with her hair; her brother Lazarus was ill. So the sisters sent a message to Jesus, “Lord, he whom you love is ill.” (John 11:1-3)

Jesus loves at least one member of this family, and the assumption that he will hurry to his bedside is clear. There is a prior intimacy here.

2. Jesus and this family also have a recent shared history of death and loss, and resuscitation/ resurrection. Lazarus, the one whom Jesus loves, has died--shock. And he has been brought back to life--shock again. And in the midst of it all Jesus has had a key conversation with his sister Martha. She has expressed her anger/ disappointment that Jesus did not show up in time (as does Mary, in another conversation). But Martha has also affirmed not only one of the powerful "I AM" statements that are unique to John's gospel, but also Jesus' identity/ role as Messiah/ Christ/ Anointed of God:

When Martha heard that Jesus was coming, she went and met him, while Mary stayed at home. Martha said to Jesus, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died. But even now I know that God will give you whatever you ask of him.” Jesus said to her, “Your brother will rise again.” Martha said to him, “I know that he will rise again in the resurrection on the last day.” Jesus said to her, “I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?” She said to him, “Yes, Lord, I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, the one coming into the world.” (John 11:20-27)

3. Points 1 and 2 are background from the previous chapter. In chapter, 12, Mary (who also had a heartbroken conversation with Jesus) comes into the room where they are eating, at a party the family has thrown in Jesus' honor, with the once dead but now alive Lazarus seated at the table as well. Into the room she brings nard. Matthew and Mark note the nard and its expense. John notes the amount of nard--a pound, an extravagant amount, shockingly so.

Nard is expensive, as the text points out. And it is used to prepare bodies for burial. In the previous chapter the smell of death is discussed. When Jesus orders that the stone be rolled away from the tomb, Martha objects. "There will be a stench..." (Or, in the KJV: "By this time he stinketh.") But Lazarus comes out alive, and no stench is described. 

Now, Mary pours out the nard on Jesus' feet, and we have a different, beautiful smell of death that would be well-known to the community; the smell of nard, sweet, pungent, filling the entire house, unmistakable.*

In chapter 11, Martha affirmed Jesus as the Resurrection and the Life, the Christ who has come into the world.

In chapter 12, Mary affirms that Jesus will die. More than that, she affirms his worthiness. She has shown devotion in a way that shocks at least some who are present, but which is entirely appropriate. She is a true disciple.

Gill, Eric, 1882-1940. Mary Magdalen, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=58991 [retrieved April 2, 2022]. Original source: https://www.flickr.com/photos/carolyn_gifford/32946639684/.

Note: Mary Magdalene and Mary of Bethany
have often been blurred and conflated throughout the centuries.
It is Mary of Bethany who anointed Jesus in the gospel of John.

* Thank you to Rev. Ruth Hetland for this insight, as found in her "Full to the Brim" Bible Study.

Lent Day 27: The Women Who Anointed Jesus Part 2

Anointing the feet of Jesus in the house of Simon, the Pharisee [1]

Today I will be looking at the Lukan version of the story of Jesus being anointed. This version stands in sharp relief to the other three versions in several ways.

1. This story takes place in the north, the city of Nain in the region of Galilee rather than in Bethany (in the southern region of Judea). 

2. It takes place in the home of Simon the Pharisee (rather than Simon the leper). Pharisees make up a group often identified in the gospels as being intellectual sparring partners with Jesus.

3. The woman who anoints Jesus here is neither simply an unnamed woman nor identified as Mary of Bethany (as in John's version). She is identified as a sinner. It's hard to know exactly what is meant by this descriptor. Is she a sex worker? There is an insinuation that she is.

Again, an unnamed woman comes into the place where Jesus is at table. She is carrying an alabaster jar of costly ointment (as in Mark and Matthew). It was common in this place and time for people to recline at low tables, and the description of the woman's location makes it clear that this was the setup. She is described as being behind Jesus, at his feet (which would be difficult if he were seated on a bench or in a chair). She is weeping, and begins to bathe Jesus' feet with her tears, and wipe them dry with her hair. Only then does she anoint Jesus' feet, kissing them as she does.

In Jesus' day and time, it was considered entirely inappropriate for a woman to touch a man to whom she was not married. The Pharisee reacts to the woman's actions with shock and an interior monologue in which he condemns the woman as a sinner, and muses that Jesus must not be a prophet after all--if Jesus were any kind of legitimate prophet, surely he would have know about her? Simon is reading the woman's gestures as erotic, seductive. He is reading them wrong.

Jesus addresses Simon by name, announces his intention to speak, and Simon respectfully urges him to do so: "Teacher [Rabbi], speak."

Jesus tells the parable of the two debtors and the creditor.

A certain creditor had two debtors; one owed five hundred denarii, and the other fifty. When they could not pay, he canceled the debts for both of them. Now which of them will love him more?” Simon answered, “I suppose the one for whom he canceled the greater debt.” And Jesus said to him, “You have judged rightly.” (Luke 7:41-43)

Jesus goes on to point out the difference in the treatment he has received from Simon--in whose home he is a guest--and the unnamed woman. Simon has not fully or appropriately received Jesus: for everything he did not do, Jesus names a parallel thing the woman did do.

Simon did not give Jesus water to wash his feet; the woman washed them with her tears.

Simon did not greet Jesus with a kiss: the woman continually kissed Jesus' feet.

Simon did not anoint Jesus' head with oil: the woman anointed his head with ointment.

"Therefore, I tell you, her sins, which were many, have been forgiven; hence she has shown great love. But the one to whom little is forgiven, loves little.” Then he said to her, “Your sins are forgiven.”
(Luke 7:47-48)

Jesus is shown, not only to be a prophet, but to be a greater prophet than the Pharisee could have imagined. 

This story of anointing is in some ways very like the other stories, but it is still fundamentally different. Gone is the anointing as preparation for burial, replaced with a story of forgiveness and gratitude. Gone is the setting of Holy Week; this story plays out early in Jesus' ministry. Gone is the simple prophetic gesture of a woman anointing Jesus in affirmation of his mission; it is replaced with a powerful gesture of gratitude.

One last thing; this passage is followed immediately by a description of Jesus setting out on a journey with the twelve, and also with several women who are financially supporting them. The women are named as Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Susanna, and others. The proximity of Mary Magdalene's appearance to the story of the "sinner" who anoints Jesus has been used to suggest that Mary Magdalene anointed Jesus in Simon the Pharisee's house, but there is no evidence to support this. Mary is also described as having had seven demons cast out of her by Jesus. An early medieval pope used this fact to claim that the seven demons represented the seven deadly sins, and therefore Mary Magdalene was a prostitute, and furthermore, the woman who anointed Jesus in this passage. Again, there is no direct evidence of any of this in the gospels. The only Mary who is said to have anointed Jesus in scripture, was Mary of Bethany.

~~~

[1] Campi, Antonio, 1522 or 1523-1587. Anointing the Feet of Jesus in the House of Simon, the Pharisee, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=56164 [retrieved March 31, 2022]. Original source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Antonio_Campi_001.jpg.

Lent Day 26: The Women Who Anointed Jesus Part 1

Sermon Prep

There are some gospel stories that are one-of-a-kind--the parable of the Prodigal Son comes to mind, a beloved tale that is reported only in the Gospel According to Luke. There are other gospel stories that are told over and over; there is something so essential about them, it seems the gospel wouldn't be the gospel if they were missing.  The feeding of the multitudes is one such story, told six times across the four gospels. Jesus predicts his death three times in the synoptic gospels (Matthew, Mark, and Luke), and talks about it extensively in the second half of the Gospel According to John. And, of course, the crucifixion and the empty tomb are recounted in all four gospels, with varying details. 

The anointing of Jesus is another such story.  It is told four times, once in each gospel, providing us essentially, three versions of the story. As I prepare to preach on the version found in John's gospel, I thought I'd clarify my thoughts. Today I'll talk about the version found (with only slight differences) in the gospels of Matthew and Mark; tomorrow I will address the version found in the Gospel According to Luke, and on Saturday, I will talk about the version I'll be preaching on this Sunday, as found in the gospel as John.

Again, the versions told in Matthew and Mark are nearly identical, with only a few details changed. The setting is the same--the home of Simon the leper, in Bethany. Both passages take place during Holy Week, most likely on Wednesday. Both passages take place immediately following the news of the religious leaders plotting to kill Jesus, and immediately prior to Judas acting on his decision to betray Jesus--what textual critics call an inclusio, a kind of thematic sandwich. Betrayal is all around this story, but the story itself is about an action that is the opposite of betrayal.

Jesus is dining at Simon's home, and at some point during the evening, an unnamed woman enters. She brings with her a jar of costly ointment, and proceeds to pour it on Jesus' head. 

Matthew and Mark both have the woman anointing Jesus' head (as opposed to his feet, as portrayed in Luke and John). This evokes the anointing of a king, a priest, or a prophet-- all roles associated with the ministry of Jesus and subsequent theological understanding of his role as Messiah. 

Matthew includes the detail that it is Nard, a product of the spikenard plant; he also includes the detail that the woman breaks the jar open.

Immediately anger ensues. In Mark's gospel, it is attributed to "some who were there," but in Matthew, it is the disciples. Why such a waste? This ointment could have been sold for a large amount of money (Matthew: 300 denarii, about a year's wages for a day laborer). The money could have been given to the poor. Matthew has the disciples scolding the woman directly, while in Mark, the comments are all directed at Jesus.

Jesus' response is strong: Leave her alone (Matthew). Why do you trouble her? She has done a good service for me (as so strongly contrasted with the evil service cooked up by the religious leaders and Judas). Jesus identifies this anointing as preparation for his burial. As I mentioned earlier, all four gospels show Jesus predicting his passion and death. The disciples push back on his predictions (especially Peter), Only this unnamed woman acknowledges what he has predicted, and, by his interpretation of her action, ritually prepares for that moment.

A breathtaking statement ends both accounts. The goodness of the woman's action is so profound, Jesus states that it will live on in the memory of the church.

"Truly I tell you, wherever the good news is proclaimed in the whole world, what she has done will be told in remembrance of her." (Mark 14:9; Matthew 26:13)

The memory of the unnamed woman lives on. 

Lent Day 23: Rituals

The Lord spoke to Moses, saying: Speak to the people of Israel, saying: On the fifteenth day of this seventh month, and lasting seven days, there shall be the festival of booths to the Lord.  
~Leviticus 26:33-34

We all have our rituals. Whether they involve the order in which we put out the lights before climbing the stairs to go to bed, or the procedure for creating a beloved dish "just like mom made it," our rituals offer us comfort, predictability, maybe even a sense of safety. 

We have rituals around our work (what time we arrive, what we prioritize as we begin the day, whether we approach tasks in order of difficulty-- hardest first? or get the easy ones out of the way so you can attack the hard ones with a clean plate?). We have rituals around our play (The snacks! Setting up the table for mahjong!)! And, of course, many of us engage in sacred rituals.

In my branch of Christianity most of our rituals are communal: Sunday worship and the sacraments of Baptism and the Lord's Supper are the cornerstones of life together in community as a people who serve the God of Jesus Christ. But they also offer us the comfort of predictability woven together with the novelty of the prayers and texts and sermonizing of the day. But there are rituals for home, as well--morning prayers, grace before a meal, "Now I lay me down to sleep..." 

The best rituals--by which I mean, the rituals that feel most essential, weighty in a good way--are those that appeal to our different senses. My morning prayer ritual includes the right location (where I am comfortable but also upright, with good natural light or at least a good lamp), music (some I listen to, and some I make), and a candle. Not just any candle, mind you, but a candle specially created for clergywomen by the Rev. Ruth Hetland (the genius behind the @consecratebox). The candle is called "God, Evil, and Suffering." Here's the thing, though: it doesn't smell like God, evil, and suffering, but, rather, like the gentlest whiff of the pipe tobacco of a beloved seminary professor who happened to teach a class by that name. I received one by subscription to Ruth's monthly treasure trove of items clergywomen need, and promptly ordered a dozen more. I don't know what I'll do when I run out. 

My point is: this ritual is especially meaningful to me. The involvement of my senses, my location, my prayerbook... all these things combine to give my prayer time the weight I think such a time deserves. It is the time I open my heart to God, and it is important.

There are other kinds of rituals, of course, beside the ones that root us to our daily lives, or even our weekly communal worship. The United States has highly ritualized the anniversary of September 11, 2001, for example. 

I have been wondering today whether we will ever create rituals to mark this season of pandemic, of which we have entered year 3. This morning's passage from Leviticus set me thinking about this. The Festival of Booths described in chapter 26 is a ritual commemorating the forty years God's covenant people spend on their wilderness sojourn between enslavement in Egypt and their entry into the Land of Promise. The festival lives on in the contemporary Jewish practice of Sukkoth (Hebrew for "booths") in which individuals and families create an outdoor dwelling place for a week that might resemble a tent or a booth, extravagantly decorated with specific kinds of fruits, flowers and greenery. 

An important facet of the booth is that it must be at least partially open to the elements--the reality of the vulnerability of the people to the elements of nature cannot be forgotten. But the festive nature of the observance--it is particularly beloved by children, it includes beautiful adornments--is part of its celebratory nature. "We got through it," Sukkoth reminds those who celebrate. "Look at our strength. Look at our resilience."

What rituals do you observe? The ritual of the morning coffee? (Oh, I do that one.) Saturday date night? I'm curious to know what you do, and how you do it. Rituals help to make life richer, to remind us of what we treasure. I hope yours give you joy.

Ready for Morning Prayer.

Lent Day 21: Lady Day

When I find myself in times of trouble...

I'm going to tell you these things in the order in which I learned them. 

Growing up Catholic, of course I knew that March 25 was the Feast of the Annunciation of Gabriel to Mary. It was the first Joyful Mystery of the rosary, and I inherited my love of the rosary and of Mary from my mother. (She stopped going to church, but she never stopped saying the rosary.)

In the sixth month the angel Gabriel was sent by God to a town in Galilee called Nazareth, to a virgin engaged to a man whose name was Joseph, of the house of David. The virgin’s name was Mary. And he came to her and said, “Greetings, favored one! The Lord is with you.”
~Luke 1:26-28

At some point it occurred to me that, of course, someone did the math and counted nine months backwards from Christmas.

Nope.

Rather, I learned that March 25 was celebrated as the day of the conception of Jesus Christ very early in church history. The reason for this was that the church, from its very earliest days, marked March 25 as the date of the crucifixion. 

I did not understand. Why should these be the same day? Wasn't that some kind of crazy coincidence?

No. It was, rather, trust in the consistency of God's designs for humankind. If the crucifixion took place on March 25, it stood to reason that it was also the date of Christ's conception, because it was the day chosen by God to be the day of salvation. God's purposes were being worked out in creation on this very day, whether that was by Christ's crucifixion or his conception... or even the creation of all things. Yes, there is also an ancient tradition that March 25 was the first day of creation.

Finally, I was today years old when I learned that, for nearly 600 years, March 25 was New Year's Day for the British Empire, also known as Lady Day. (Thanks so much Cody!).

So, a blessed day of Annunciation to you all, and a blessed remembrance of the first Good Friday. However it was done, by whatever method or design, today is a day to recall God's overflowing love for us.

Enjoy this, my favorite rendition of Mary's magnificent song, the Magnificat.

Lent Day 19: Cleaning

 

Guess who's using these bad boys again?

I've been cleaning. It's a pretty normal thing to do after a viral illness, I guess, but it's also something a lot of us learned to ratchet up at the beginning of the pandemic. 

Remember all the disinfectant wipes, and how they disappeared from stores and reappeared online at ten times the price?

Remember disinfecting your grocery bags before bringing them in the house, and then disinfecting the wrappings the food was in, too?

That was all so weird.

I'll be clear. I hate, loathe, despise, and abominate cleaning... except when I really, really want to do it. (Don't worry, my house is fine.)

This morning I was captivated by an urge to really clean following my weekend bug (not Covid, some have been asking). So I donned rubber gloves and got out the cleaners that you're not supposed to inhale for too long or they'll, I don't know, scorch your lungs? And I set to work.

It took about an hour, after which I felt like I'd done, not only a necessary thing, but a good thing.  Cleaning made my house feel like home again after the dislocating, disorienting experience of feeling distanced from it, even though I've been here, without interruption, since Saturday.

Some language around Lent evokes the notions of cleaning. "Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean," the psalm reads. "Create in me a clean heart, O God, and put a new and steadfast spirit within me." I will admit that some of the language of this psalm troubles me, though not because I don't believe in sin. (I do.) It bothers me because "clean" and "unclean" have been used throughout history to isolate and punish groups of people, usually on the basis of ethnicity, social class, or sexual orientation. "Dirty ______" has been an epithet hurled too often, and too many, resulting in real damage, including death.

At the same time, Lent is a time for... can we say, decluttering? Prioritizing? Setting the house of the soul in order--not because some part of it is polluted, but because clarity can be good. It helps us to see and appreciate what is there. It helps us to let go of what we no longer need. It helps us to restore order after a time of distress. 

I admit it. Cleaning can be good.

Lent Day 18: Rest

I knew on Friday something was off.

I was in one of my favorite spaces for working-- beautiful, serene, full of light-- and I was having a terrible time. I was trying to finish my meditation for Sunday, and I had all the attention span of an excited puppy, but with none of the energy. 

Writing sentences was like pulling my own teeth (without the pain but with all the effort). I knew I was excited about the passage--I'd had the most wonderful conversation about it with the Bible Study group earlier in the week. But I couldn't summon that excitement in the moment, and it felt like the task of Sisyphus to summon the willpower to keep going,

I am not very good at understanding when I am getting sick. Usually, if there's going to be a fever, I cry at some point, but I didn't cry. I just felt off, and found concentration very, very hard. I even attempted a nap, though anxiety about what I still had to do for Sunday wouldn't let it happen.

I was getting sick, but I was experiencing it as a moral failing. My body was sending me signals that all was not well physically, but I experienced it as failing at being productive. 

It took another 24 hours, and undeniable evidence of a virus, before I understood what was happening, and that I would not be capable of going to church on Sunday morning. 

It took another 6 hours after that to understand that I also wouldn't be capable of video-calling in to the service. 

And another 10 hours to finalize the last bit of coverage with a church member, which involved somehow breaking into my office to get a book for the Sunday School kids in Child Care.

This takes us up to 7 AM Sunday.

It was not lost on me, during all this, that our devotional cards seemed to be speaking directly to me. Here are the weekend's reminders for the day.

Friday:

Humans need seven
types of rest - creative,
emotional, mental, 
physical, spiritual,
social, and sensory.
Which of these areas
have you protected?
Which needs 
protecting?

Saturday:

Allow
yourself
space and
time to rest.

Sunday:

You are worthy
of Sabbath
time.

Monday:

Your worth is not
rooted in your
productivity.

(I include Monday in the "weekend" because I was still pretty weak, even though the symptoms had resolved on Sunday.)

I know I'm not unique in struggling with maintaining Sabbath time. Clergy are notoriously bad at this, though I have generally thought of myself as having a pretty reasonable work-life balance, and I also believe in it. It's not a suggestion to us; our sacred writings command it, not because God is a kill-joy, but quite the opposite. Human beings are deserving of rest.

Yet, it took me being confronted with incontrovertible evidence (fatigue and inability to focus, actual symptoms, worsening symptoms, new symptoms) to let go of plans, to share responsibilities, and, finally, to rest, which I began to do about 40 hours after the whole thing got rolling.

I couldn't let go of the idea that I was being self-indulgent.

I am incredibly fortunate in that I was able to share the resources to allow other people to step into my Sunday roles. I have fantastic colleagues in ministry and leadership who were happy to do whatever they could. I was able to message someone on Sunday morning to take care of that last bit of business, and they were happy to help. My direct deposit salary will be the same, despite the fact that I did not go to church on Sunday morning.

Not everyone has the kind of job where it works out this way. For most people missing work means  missed wages, and increased financial pressure, and the possibility of not making rent or the mortgage payment. The kind of work I do protects me from those kinds of outcomes due to a brief illness, but I know plenty of people for whom missing the main thing they are supposed to do that week means true financial hardship.

Not everyone does the kind of work that allows them the kind of rest Sabbath was meant to provide. I'm guessing, most people struggle to take Sabbath at all, and it has nothing to do with self-criticism and everything to do with a child's medical bills, or the heating bill, or being able to replace failing tires on the car.

Eventually, despite the way my brain was working against me, I was able to take the rest I needed, and I'm deeply grateful for it.

But our culture has made getting a three-day bug unaffordable for the vast majority of its workers, and that is a societal failing on the deepest level. 

We can do better. We must find a way for all people to find the space and time to rest. 

We must do better.

Full to the Brim devotional card,
from @sanctifiedart.

(PS, FYI, not Covid. Just your bog-standard bug.)

Lent Day 14: God Has Heard

"The High Priest and Hannah," James Tissot (1836-1902, French)

I shared a meditation on the boy-turned-prophet Samuel at last evening's Lenten service (you can read it here, if you like). It was the first in a series of Wednesday evening services around the theme of "Bedtime Stories." There are a lot of things that happen in the Bible when, under normal circumstances, people are supposed to be sleeping. 

I owe all credit for the idea of the series to my seminary buddy Chris Shelton (the link will take you to Broadway Presbyterian Church, where he is pastor, and you will see a fantastic picture there of him in the center of the congregation, with his son and husband). Chris is the one who came up with the idea of this passage as a bedtime story, famously donning a bathrobe and holding a Teddy bear in his arms to preach it. This is a sermon I didn't hear in person, but the idea of which has delighted me for years. 

The story of Samuel begins, not with him, but with his mother Hannah, heartbroken because she cannot conceive a baby, while her sister-wife is quite fertile (1 Samuel 1). She cries and prays at the Temple at Shiloh. The priest, Eli, doesn't recognize her tears and prayers for what they are; he thinks she's drunk. She clarifies for him that she is distressed and praying, without offering any details. Eli offers a prayer: 

“Go in peace; the God of Israel grant the petition you have made to him.” And the God of Israel does. 

A child is conceived. A child is born, and Hannah names him Samuel, which is Hebrew for "God has heard."

God has heard.

This is the central thing I think we want to know, when we are praying. That God has heard our prayers--even if the answer is "no," or "not yet," or sheer silence. We want to know that our prayers have risen up like incense before God, that God has taken note. Hannah's naming of her son celebrates the birth, certainly, but her actions after the child is born show what her heart is truly celebrating. 

Even while Samuel is a babe in arms, Hannah determines that she will dedicate him to God, and that he will serve in the Temple. When he is weaned, she presents him, along with offerings of flour, wine, and a three-year-old bull (an echo of the three-year-old Samuel?), to the priest. "For this child I prayed," Hannah tells the priest, "and the Lord has granted me the petition that I made to him. Therefore  I have lent him to the Lord; as long as he lives, he is given to the Lord."

Hannah is best known for the song she sings immediately following this moment of offering. Her canticle is believed to be the model for the Magnificat, the song Mary sings when her cousin Elizabeth confirms in her that she is carrying Jesus, the Messiah. Both canticles are songs of a world turned upside down, with the mighty tumbling from their thrones and the humble gaining ascendancy.

And it is a song that celebrates, at the very soul of it: God has heard.

Lent Day 12: White Privilege On Display

I'm having an interesting time over on Twitter, where my white privilege is fully on display and being appropriately called out.

I hate it.

I hate my white privilege.

I hate that I can blithely (and with about two minutes of thought) post something that can so expose my limitations and the sea I've been swimming in my whole life, which is to say, the sea of white supremacy, and the fact that, on some level, I still don't get it. 

And I hate being called out, because it is so profoundly uncomfortable.

Context: A guy who posts stuff about music (and who has 807,000 followers) posted a list released by Rolling Stone titled, "Rolling Stone Readers Pick the Best Lead Singers of All Time." 

They were all white men, but that's not what I noticed. I noticed that they were all men.

So, I posted a response, which was a list of almost all white women (the one who is a POC is not widely viewed as a POC--Linda Ronstadt, Mexican dad).

And very quickly, many people responded to it along the lines of "not one Black or brown woman?"

AND THEY ARE RIGHT. 

Left to my own devices, and not thinking terribly deeply about a topic, my response shows how very limited my scope is. Sure, I have tons of Aretha (and Beyonce and Solange Knowles and Nina Simone and Ella Fitzgerald and Tracy Chapman and Rhiannon Giddens) on my Apple Music account. (<--- VIRTUE SIGNALING)

But I have shown who I am, which is a person whose life experience (including the music I have listened to most) has been shaped by whiteness. 

Here's what matters: Despite my own taste, and what I know I love and value, despite my conviction that we are all steeped in white supremacy and white people are responsible for keeping that knowledge at the forefront of our consciousness... despite all the boxes I like to think I have checked on this topic, I can easily default, when describing excellence, to people who look like me.

I'm not asking for anything in response to this. I think it's important that I be uncomfortable right now. Black and brown people go through life in a world that works pretty hard to make them uncomfortable, not to mention killing and imprisoning them at rates disproportional to their numbers in the population.

I am uncomfortable, and I think it's a good idea for me to be uncomfortable on this topic, until I get it.

I have work to do.