I abandoned my computer Holy Saturday, Easter Sunday and Easter Monday, so I return to you today....Happy Easter! (It's a season of 50 days, you know, so plenty more time to say Alleluia.)
What can one say about the Resurrection of our Lord? Or about the celebration of Easter? We had girls in white dresses (with blue satin sashes), women in white sandals, lilies aplenty and shiny white paraments. We communed with real bread, sang "Christ the Lord is Risen Today," and heard brass and bells. We ate egg bake, muffins and chocolate eggs. People smiled, hugged and laughed in greeting; many hadn't seen each other since the last major church holiday :)
Sometimes I feel sad that I only see many folks twice a year. There's such a diverse group of people who gather at Christmas and Easter and I miss their energy on other Sundays. Still, I'm grateful they come, even if twice a year.
So what can I say about Easter? Well, I finished "A Thousand Splended Suns," a tragic and moving tome about women in Afganistan. And there was redemption, resurrection at the end, only after the main character Laila passed through unspeakable suffering.
Laila muses that while she has found joy in her life, the sacrifices and losses along the way were considerable. Put another way, the resurrection came only through the cross.
So rejoice that your resurrection has come. Maybe you didn't feel it, per se, on Easter Sunday; perhaps your life has challenges and you still feel stuck in Good Friday. That may be and it is okay. But take heart and live in hope that Easter is coming, even when it doesn't seem that way. It may break in just when you least expect it. Alleluia, Amen.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Friday, March 21, 2008
Good Friday
Today we mark Jesus' death on the cross. The redemption of the world groans in balance as we wait for Jesus' rising. And all I can think about is getting back to a novel.
A Thousand Splendid Suns, by Afghan-American Khaled Housseini, the famed and acclaimed author of The Kite Runner (now a movie).
I didn't mean to get so attached but now I can't put it down and paradoxically I can hardly bear to pick it up again. The stories of the women of Afghanistan are that tragic.
I'll save you the minutea of plot details; suffice to say the book follows two womens interwoven lives in Kabul from 1979 onward. The book is fiction, the politics are not. The Sovients in Afghanistan rise and fall, the mujihadeen factions kick them out, then promptly war with each other, then the Taliban comes, offering unity for the small price of libety. No singing, dancing, writing books or painting. Women are only permitted out of the house accompanied by a male relative, and are forbidden to wear jewelry, makeup or nail polish. Men must grow beards and pray five times daily. Non-compliance to various rules result in loss of finger, hand, foot or life.
Our protagonists in this story suffer not only from these rules but from husbands who treat them like property: yelling, insults, beatings and in once scene locking a woman and child in a dark bedroom for 2 days, no water. At one point, main character Laila comments how amazing it is that the human body and tolerate so much beating.
Now why do I go on about a work of fiction? Well, because while these characters are fictional, the treatment of women is real. The bombing of Kabul was real. The decapitations, stonings and hangings were real. People were capable of treating human bodies like so many disposable parts.
When two airplanes crashed into the twin towers in New York City on Sept. 11, 2001, I remember thinking about those pilots. I thought how fortunate was I to have been born in this country of priviledge. Had I been born in other circumstances, withstood other pressures and hardships, I might have done the same. Those who flew planes into towers were just like me: flesh and blood, sorrow and joy, pain and hope. This does not excuse their actions, it just serves to remind that we are all connected in human sin, one big broken family.
And that's why Jesus came, why I'm waiting for His end of the story like I'm waiting for the end of A Thousand Splendid Suns. While I don't know what will happen to Mariam and Laila, I know Christ's ending for this world. Salvation, resurrection, new life, new hope, even now, while we were still sinners.
Blessed Good Friday.
A Thousand Splendid Suns, by Afghan-American Khaled Housseini, the famed and acclaimed author of The Kite Runner (now a movie).
I didn't mean to get so attached but now I can't put it down and paradoxically I can hardly bear to pick it up again. The stories of the women of Afghanistan are that tragic.
I'll save you the minutea of plot details; suffice to say the book follows two womens interwoven lives in Kabul from 1979 onward. The book is fiction, the politics are not. The Sovients in Afghanistan rise and fall, the mujihadeen factions kick them out, then promptly war with each other, then the Taliban comes, offering unity for the small price of libety. No singing, dancing, writing books or painting. Women are only permitted out of the house accompanied by a male relative, and are forbidden to wear jewelry, makeup or nail polish. Men must grow beards and pray five times daily. Non-compliance to various rules result in loss of finger, hand, foot or life.
Our protagonists in this story suffer not only from these rules but from husbands who treat them like property: yelling, insults, beatings and in once scene locking a woman and child in a dark bedroom for 2 days, no water. At one point, main character Laila comments how amazing it is that the human body and tolerate so much beating.
Now why do I go on about a work of fiction? Well, because while these characters are fictional, the treatment of women is real. The bombing of Kabul was real. The decapitations, stonings and hangings were real. People were capable of treating human bodies like so many disposable parts.
When two airplanes crashed into the twin towers in New York City on Sept. 11, 2001, I remember thinking about those pilots. I thought how fortunate was I to have been born in this country of priviledge. Had I been born in other circumstances, withstood other pressures and hardships, I might have done the same. Those who flew planes into towers were just like me: flesh and blood, sorrow and joy, pain and hope. This does not excuse their actions, it just serves to remind that we are all connected in human sin, one big broken family.
And that's why Jesus came, why I'm waiting for His end of the story like I'm waiting for the end of A Thousand Splendid Suns. While I don't know what will happen to Mariam and Laila, I know Christ's ending for this world. Salvation, resurrection, new life, new hope, even now, while we were still sinners.
Blessed Good Friday.
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Holy Thursday
This evening at Central we did foot washing during out Maundy (Holy) Thursday service. I preached a little sermon about the weirdness of footwashing, so I'll share a few thoughts from that.
Jesus washed the disciples' feet in John 13, though at least one (Peter) was intially unwilling. Maybe Peter thought it was yucky, weird and demeaning that one such as Jesus should was his feet.
Maybe we think of feet as pretty yucky too. And private, intimate. We'd generally rather not get our feet wet. Literally or figuratively.
But Jesus says unless he (Jesus) washes Peter's feet, Peter will have no part with him. Put another way, Peter must recieve the grace of Christ to be in the full community, the full relationship. It's hard to be in relationship with someone who won't let you in.
When we get our feet wet (literally, figuratively), we allow the grace of God, the goodness and forgiveness of God to wash over us, restoring us to relationship with God. When we get our feet wet, figuratively, by getting involved in the world and its suffering, we build authentic community, gathered, nourished and sent out by the Spirit.
This is our life's purpose, to be washed and wash others! Why would we miss out on the life, the big wild life with Christ!
Jesus washed the disciples' feet in John 13, though at least one (Peter) was intially unwilling. Maybe Peter thought it was yucky, weird and demeaning that one such as Jesus should was his feet.
Maybe we think of feet as pretty yucky too. And private, intimate. We'd generally rather not get our feet wet. Literally or figuratively.
But Jesus says unless he (Jesus) washes Peter's feet, Peter will have no part with him. Put another way, Peter must recieve the grace of Christ to be in the full community, the full relationship. It's hard to be in relationship with someone who won't let you in.
When we get our feet wet (literally, figuratively), we allow the grace of God, the goodness and forgiveness of God to wash over us, restoring us to relationship with God. When we get our feet wet, figuratively, by getting involved in the world and its suffering, we build authentic community, gathered, nourished and sent out by the Spirit.
This is our life's purpose, to be washed and wash others! Why would we miss out on the life, the big wild life with Christ!
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Holy Wednesday
Five years ago today, the US sent troops into Iraq. I was living in Berkeley, land of the protesters. Though I had aseembled for non-violent actions before, I did not choose to march in any of the peace protests. I was too upset. I was a lukewarm Bush supporter and felt totally betrayed. The message from media and the government was not to criticize the decision to go to war (apparently critical thinking and caring about democracy was unpatriotic) and I should go shopping. I was too broke, so I just brooded.
Today I brooded too, now that nearly 4,000 US service men and women have lost thier lives in Iraq. By some estimates, Iraqi lives lost may be greater than 500,000. Regardless of the number, it's just too many.
Sometimes I forget we are at war with Iraq. If I think about it too long and hard, I'm tempted to drop into despair. Isn't it easier sometimes to just be oblivious, to just go with the flow?
But as I said yesterday, we are HOLY people, called to be set apart for God's work. And while I deeply believe God loves President Bush, I also believe God values justice, compassion, mercy and kindness. I will leave it to God to judge how our nation's leaders stack up.
Meanwhile, though I get compassion fatigue, I will keep reading about the war in Iraq and keep praying. If I feel compelled to speak, I will speak. We have hope that peace will come to that part of the world that God loves so much. It is our rock to which we cling, we who move toward cross and grave this Holy Week.
Today I brooded too, now that nearly 4,000 US service men and women have lost thier lives in Iraq. By some estimates, Iraqi lives lost may be greater than 500,000. Regardless of the number, it's just too many.
Sometimes I forget we are at war with Iraq. If I think about it too long and hard, I'm tempted to drop into despair. Isn't it easier sometimes to just be oblivious, to just go with the flow?
But as I said yesterday, we are HOLY people, called to be set apart for God's work. And while I deeply believe God loves President Bush, I also believe God values justice, compassion, mercy and kindness. I will leave it to God to judge how our nation's leaders stack up.
Meanwhile, though I get compassion fatigue, I will keep reading about the war in Iraq and keep praying. If I feel compelled to speak, I will speak. We have hope that peace will come to that part of the world that God loves so much. It is our rock to which we cling, we who move toward cross and grave this Holy Week.
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
Holy Tuesday
A few Holy Week meditations, if you dare to set aside some time this week to practice holiness.
To be holy, by the way, doesn't mean to be goody-goody, pure and perfect. To be holy is to be set apart. Against the cultural grain. So taking a few moments for prayer and reflectiont this week is just that. Holy. Set apart. Prophetic in a world where March Madness is more important than holy week and hockey tournaments are held on Easter Sunday.
So welcome to Holy Tuesday. Take a moment to rest. Yes, you, the one who is multi-tasking even as you read this. Just slow down. Breathe. Be in the holy spaces of a holy week. Be open to listening for God this week. Be open to seeing Jesus in others. Be open to the movement of the Holy Spirit within your heart.
God is about to do a new thing in this resurrection. How can you hold this immesurable joy if your hands/heart/head are already full? Clear out what you don't need. Your worries are taking up too much real estate. Be open.
Coming tomorrow: Holy Wednesday, the 5 year anniversary of US troops in Iraq.
To be holy, by the way, doesn't mean to be goody-goody, pure and perfect. To be holy is to be set apart. Against the cultural grain. So taking a few moments for prayer and reflectiont this week is just that. Holy. Set apart. Prophetic in a world where March Madness is more important than holy week and hockey tournaments are held on Easter Sunday.
So welcome to Holy Tuesday. Take a moment to rest. Yes, you, the one who is multi-tasking even as you read this. Just slow down. Breathe. Be in the holy spaces of a holy week. Be open to listening for God this week. Be open to seeing Jesus in others. Be open to the movement of the Holy Spirit within your heart.
God is about to do a new thing in this resurrection. How can you hold this immesurable joy if your hands/heart/head are already full? Clear out what you don't need. Your worries are taking up too much real estate. Be open.
Coming tomorrow: Holy Wednesday, the 5 year anniversary of US troops in Iraq.
Monday, March 10, 2008
Resurrection
I'm early, I know, since Easter is nearly two weeks away. But yesterday's (March 9) Gospel lesson was the resurrection of Lazarus and I'm still thinking about it.
Resurrection. Spoken of at a funeral service or Easter celebration near you. And almost only then.
Such a weird concept and a big long church word: resurrection. Does this really mean anything in daily life? More importantly, "So what?"
Two weeks ago at Central, we hosted the memorial for Christoph Von Alvensleben, 25-year-old snow-machiner who died in an avalanche in Turnagain Pass. It was possibly one of the saddest memorials I've attended, one of the largest and one of the most moving in terms of stories told and a life celebrated. Life lost young is tragic and unfair. A few people remarked, "Well, at least he died doing something he loved." To this, I want to say, "Well, he still died." This doesn't necessarily make it better; it is still an enormous loss. As the pallbearers moved the casket out of the church and into the hearse, the family followed and gathered at the door. They held each other and wept. The sisters of the man who died sobbed and cried, "Nein, nein," (they were Germans).
I'm thankful the memorial service was in a place of worship, so this grief could be connected to the resurrection. Because for a Christian, "he still died," isn't the end. Grief and resurrection go together for a Christian. Grief without the resurrection feels hopeless, helpless. Resurrection without grief would be a shallow celebration.
So the "so what" of the resurrection is this: God promises to love and hold us in life and in death, words of comfort for those experiencing loss. Where is Christoph? Held securely in the arms of the God who loved him in life. And, yes, someday there will be a great and mysterious resurrection and Christoph will live again.
But resurrection so what part deux is important too. Life is full of endings, transitions, deaths. Even the good transitons murmer soft whispers of loss. So what do we do? Practice resurrection, as says poet/farmer Wendell Barry. We look for where life will begin again, out of the depths of loss. We hope and look for moments of joy in God and others even in our grief. This is practicing resurrection.
As Wendell Barry says, "Be joyful, though you have considered all the facts."
Resurrection. Spoken of at a funeral service or Easter celebration near you. And almost only then.
Such a weird concept and a big long church word: resurrection. Does this really mean anything in daily life? More importantly, "So what?"
Two weeks ago at Central, we hosted the memorial for Christoph Von Alvensleben, 25-year-old snow-machiner who died in an avalanche in Turnagain Pass. It was possibly one of the saddest memorials I've attended, one of the largest and one of the most moving in terms of stories told and a life celebrated. Life lost young is tragic and unfair. A few people remarked, "Well, at least he died doing something he loved." To this, I want to say, "Well, he still died." This doesn't necessarily make it better; it is still an enormous loss. As the pallbearers moved the casket out of the church and into the hearse, the family followed and gathered at the door. They held each other and wept. The sisters of the man who died sobbed and cried, "Nein, nein," (they were Germans).
I'm thankful the memorial service was in a place of worship, so this grief could be connected to the resurrection. Because for a Christian, "he still died," isn't the end. Grief and resurrection go together for a Christian. Grief without the resurrection feels hopeless, helpless. Resurrection without grief would be a shallow celebration.
So the "so what" of the resurrection is this: God promises to love and hold us in life and in death, words of comfort for those experiencing loss. Where is Christoph? Held securely in the arms of the God who loved him in life. And, yes, someday there will be a great and mysterious resurrection and Christoph will live again.
But resurrection so what part deux is important too. Life is full of endings, transitions, deaths. Even the good transitons murmer soft whispers of loss. So what do we do? Practice resurrection, as says poet/farmer Wendell Barry. We look for where life will begin again, out of the depths of loss. We hope and look for moments of joy in God and others even in our grief. This is practicing resurrection.
As Wendell Barry says, "Be joyful, though you have considered all the facts."
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