So here it, Good Friday again. For some reason I’m remember the routine back when I was a kid, probably junior high age (that’s what it was called back then). Schools weren’t closed but we could take the time to go to the 12 noon to 3 service at church, and I recall going a few times. We sat there, that’s all: no reading, no music, no prayers, just the space to sit and wait with Jesus. Nowadays there is an ecumenical service in town and an evening service at my church. All fine, but I miss that empty service before the day of the empty tomb. Of course I could take that time myself; I don’t need the church structure. But alas, instead, I will be welcoming grandchildren at that time, which isn’t a bad thing at all. It’s just not the same. I know that.
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Holy Week has begun. Yesterday at church there were palms and the music was serious. Being a life-long Protestant, well…, nothing too heavy about the Cross for me. We were into the Resurrection, skipping right into Easter. That Protestant upbringing, along with my optimistic disposition, has kept me from going very deeply into the theology and dogma around suffering and the Cross. With that acknowledgment, where do I stand on the drama and events of this coming week? As I enjoy the evening sunlight on the water here at the cottage, I find it a challenge to even consider suffering, Jesus’ or anyone else’s. But I only have to glance at the names on my ‘top ten prayer list’ to be reminded: people involved in surgery and chemo; friends grieving for loved ones; individuals feeling alone, isolated and unloved; people agonizing over serious life decisions and relationship gone amiss. In suffering the humiliation, betrayal and pain of the Cross, Jesus experienced them all. But of course his story didn’t end, not with the crucifixion, not even with Easter. With the continual coming of the Holy Spirit it is a story without an ending. Clearly suffering doesn’t have the last word. We are into Holy Week, and true to my Protestant upbringing, I’d like to pass over the week, perhaps spending a few minutes on Good Friday remembering Jesus on the cross, and then waiting for Easter morning. Who wants to deal with suffering? Although this tradition is deeply embedded in my psyche, I notice I’m shifting a little. Of course, I like to take the credit for pushing myself to look at the suffering, but I know that it is God who isn’t letting me forget, and helping me remember. I’m rereading Christ’s Passion, Our Passions: Reflections on the Seven Last Words from the Cross, by Margaret Bullitt-Jonas. You’d think that the first saying she has chosen, “Father, forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing” (Luke 23:34), would be easy. But no! How easy is it to tell yourself or someone else, “I forgive you,” and mean it? Forgiving is about facing the pain, our own and that of others; it is about the pain we have inflected and the pain that we feel. Bullitt-Jonas suggests that to forgive we must face the damage that has been done, give an honest self-examination, and pray, and perhaps take action. I’d say that in most situations I forgive little things that happen; I don’t hold many petty grudges. But, I am aware that I carry some long-time resentments that have become such a part of me that I’m not even conscious that I need to forgive. That’s what this Lenten walk through Holy Week is all about for me. If forgiveness of self and others brings me closer to God, it’s worth a try. Teach me, O Christ, Teach me to recognize the dignity, the uniqueness, the divine possibility, of every living person. Teach me to take no one for granted, no friend or stranger, no crowd or category, no statistic or stereotype. Let me never overlook the hidden ones who yearn for recognition, and secretly ask, ‘Who am I?’ And in that recognition, in that deepest knowing, let me encounter you. Excerpt from a poem by Brian Woodcock, in Lent & Easter Readings from Iona Today I took my very longest walk down the beach. The tide was out so I could keep going easily. I thought of Jesus in the wilderness for forty days being challenged by the devil. My wilderness was the beach, going on and on with no other human being as a distraction. The forty days was the long, long time I had available to me, with no time restraints, no obligations. The devil represented my own demons--whatever keeps me from God. Mine included, but aren’t limited to, impatience, pride, jealousy, and judgments. (You probably have your own list and undoubtedly we overlap on a few.) The Lenten season doesn’t change much for me as far as my routine at the cottage is concerned, but it does remind me to pay attention to this practice of my faith. I recommend my minister’s sermon yesterday on the topic. One of his many best. http://mccsudbury.org/files/Tempted%20to%20take%20it%20literally.htm Once again, we’re into Lent. As a child I was told that I should ‘give up’ something. Chocolate was often mentioned, but I was never much of a sweet eater, so that didn’t do much for me. Then it was suggested that I ‘take on’ something—do something nice for someone else. The most powerful message, however, was that Lent was a time to think about God and Jesus and to try to be a better person. I remember my aunt giving up Chesterfield cigarettes and ‘taking on’ a filtered brand, but I don’t remember any God or Jesus talk about it. For me this year Lent isn’t about ‘giving up’ or ‘taking on’ anything tangible. I want to ‘take on’ an awareness of God and Jesus in my life. |
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