Speaking in Tongues

5th Sunday in Lent
a reflection on John 12:20-33

Lent has become a forgotten language; a native tongue from which we are estranged. It is a story we cannot, for the life of us, remember. All of its mystery and much of its passion escape us, leaving us ill-prepared for the events of the Week to come.

Unless…

Do you wish to see? / Are you willing to hear? / Would you be set free and would you be led? / Beyond yourself / From all you knew / Into the wilderness / Through death to enter life

a grain of wheat…

Yesterday’s harvest / The seed and secret of our tomorrows / Filled with the promise of abundance / Trusting in its purpose / Waiting patiently on the Son and the Reign

falls into the earth and dies…

It is not the end that we fear / It is the beginning of something new / It is not the death of a grain of wheat that Jesus finds tragic / It is the grain of wheat that does not fall into the earth / Forever unchanged, unfailing and unfruitful

it remains just a single grain.

“But if it dies…” These are the sounds of repentance. This is the song of our long journey home. O Great Mystery! Wash over us, Passiontide and flood. Open the city gates and unbar your hearts! Make straight the paths of the Lord and He shall meet you upon the Way.

Becoming Sin

4th Sunday in Lent
a reflection on John 3:14-21

Karl had been walking fields all day. It was a good stand of wheat, high and full. No change from yesterday, or the day before. No reason to keep fussing over it. If you praised Karl’s farming, he would brag on his great-grandfather’s good fortune and practical wisdom. Ask him how things were at home, and Karl would answer, “Well, I better go see how the crop’s coming.”

Along the back forty east of his farm Karl found some blighted wheat. It was plain to see what needed to be done, which was a comfort. Karl was looking for problems he could solve, difficulties he could manage easily. A breach of trust, on the other hand; broken promises, the blight on Karl’s relationship with his family, these were not like the seeds or the soil that he was used to working.

Karl kicked at a clod of dirt and swore. He cursed his luck, cursed his circumstances, cursed everyone and everything weighing him down. I’m a good man, he thought. I made a mistake. He wondered if it would be best to just leave, but Karl heard the lie for what it was. Turning from the field, and the failure, and the feelings he did not want to face, Karl spotted a snake on a rock in the ditch. It sat up, alert to Karl’s presence, unblinking, unflinching, without sympathy or remorse. In an instant, Karl saw the lie – and his own sin – for what it was.

He found his wife busy at her sewing. “Mathilda,” she looked up. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Please forgive me.”

“So Moses made a serpent of bronze, and put it upon a pole; and whenever a serpent bit someone, that person would look at the serpent of bronze and live.” ~Numbers 21:9

Man On the Street

3rd Sunday in Lent
a reflection on John 2:13-22

“There’s this guy I keep running into that creeps me out, which is a funny way to put it. You ‘run into’ people you haven’t seen awhile, people you’re glad to see: old friends, distant relatives, former co-workers. You stop and talk. Maybe you pull out a picture, exchange business cards or whatever, and you’re on your way. But, this guy, I don’t know from Adam.”

It is for your sake that I have borne reproach, that shame has covered my face. I have become a stranger to my kindred, an alien to my mother’s children…

“He must be homeless. I mean, he’s everywhere and nowhere: on the streets, in the park, uptown, downtown. I’ve even seen him come out of that little church on the corner and go into the bar across the street. I’m not sure what kind of church wants someone like him, but I knew if I tossed that bum a nickel, it’d go up in smoke or worse.”

It is zeal for your house that has consumed me; the insults of those who insult you have fallen on me. When I humbled my soul with fasting, they insulted me for doing so. When I made sackcloth my clothing, I became a byword to them…

“What’s his story? I wonder. Is he an immigrant? Can he speak English? Does he have some horrible disease? Where’s his family? Why doesn’t someone help these disabled veterans? Maybe I’m imagining this guy. Maybe if I keep ignoring him, he’ll go away.”

I am the subject of gossip for those who sit in the gate, and the drunkards make songs about me. ~Psalm 69:7-11

“What’s his story, though? I really wish someone would tell me. Maybe the next time I run into him, I’ll stop and ask.”

Then He Began to Teach Them

2nd Sunday in Lent
a reflection on Mark 8:31-38

Jiao Li could not believe what she was hearing. Over on the park swings, a father pushed his little girl as she laughed and kicked her feet into the sky. Tears stung in Jiao Li’s eyes. Through the phone at her ear, her daughter was still trying to explain herself.

“If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me…”

“How can you do this?” Jiao Li interrupted. “No! I’m not listening. You listen to me.” Jiao Li forcefully outlined the expectations her daughter was to live up to; the many sacrifices and generations of hopes she must honor; the years of hard work and careful plans she was failing to appreciate.

“For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it…”

“What do you mean you have to? Don’t give me that! We are Christians. That doesn’t mean you turn your back on everything to do what you think God wants you to do! Where do you get this stuff?”

“For what will it profit them to gain the whole world and forfeit their life? Indeed, what can they give in return for their life?” ~Mark 8:31-38

Jiao Li’s heart had never known such sorrow. The Jesus she thought she knew so well – this Savior she had raised her daughter to pray to, sing about, hold in her heart and wait to see one day in heaven – how could He ask so much of her? Not so much of her daughter, who wanted to go back to China as a missionary, but of Jiao Li, who Jesus was asking to let her.

Into the Wilderness

1st Sunday in Lent
a reflection on Mark 1:9-14

Desmond had grown unaccustomed to traveling light. But, neither was he prepared to be called away so soon. He only stepped out for a minute, and the answering machine counted off three missed calls. Each from the same person, bearing the same message, in the same words: “My son, come home.”

“Yet even now, says the LORD, return to me with all your heart, with fasting, with weeping, and with mourning; rend your hearts and not your clothing…”

Making this trip on such an impulse, with no time to pack, no time to make plans or lay provision, Desmond felt vulnerable and exposed. He was not comfortable entrusting to others what he ought to determine for himself. How long will I be gone? What am I going to eat? Where can I stay?

“Who knows whether he will not turn and relent, and leave a blessing behind him, a grain offering and a drink offering for the LORD, your God? Blow the trumpet in Zion; sanctify a fast; call a solemn assembly; gather the people…”

Having left so many distractions behind, Desmond became more aware of himself and of what he had brought with him: hunger, loneliness and fear; all those frightful, familiar things beckoning him to turn around, turn away, turn back to the broad and well-worn paths leading nowhere.

“Between the vestibule and the altar let the priests, the ministers of the LORD, weep. Let them say, ‘Spare your people, O LORD, and do not make your heritage a mockery, a byword among the nations. Why should it be said among the peoples, ‘Where is their God?’” ~Joel 2:12-17

Desmond also found that he had hope. He had heard his father’s voice. Unexpected. Long-awaited. A dream remembered. A way in the wilderness, leading home.

Maundy Thursday

Once the Israelites were all passed over
When the world heard Egypt’s cry,
The Lamb of God would have yet more to give.
A New Commandment.

They are inseparable, you know.
The giving of the Ten and the giving of the New.

A wilderness mountain shrouded in smoke and wrapped in flame.
A borrowed guestroom prepared for sacred remembrance,
Loving example and solemn institution.

The threat of deadly force and fatal judgment.
The promise of a Comforter and Advocate.

Unapproachable Light
Irresistible Grace

Holy Ground and dirty feet.

One fulfilling the other,
Satisfying its demands,
Embodying its purposes,
Revealing Love as the Heart and Living Spirit of the Law.

The Ten and the New.
The Passover and the Lamb of God.

Woefully and wonderfully,
Beautifully bound by the ancient creed,
Shema Yisrael Adonai Eloheinu Adonai Echad
“Hear O Israel! The LORD is our God! The LORD is One!”

Sabbath

The work of Sabbath is Remembering.

Not merely an idleness
As though human enterprise and effort
Were to be feared by God.

Not just an observance
As though God were to be contented
With our benumbing thoughtlessness.

Not even a refraining
As though the Shekhinah
Were to dwell only in that which we avoid.

Our faith is in a Presence
and not an absence
In the Light
and not darkness
In Life
and not death.

Who God is
And, who we are,
The work of Sabbath is to Remember.

And, the fruit of Sabbath
A Holiness that keeps us forever.

Good Friday

They Call it "Good"
This funeral of a Friday.

When shadows have the final word
And Silence gives the benediction.

Yes, we know the sun will come out,
That bluebirds sing,
And, what happens when you wish upon a star.

Tomorrow...
Somewhere...
When...

But, not today.
Not here.
Not now
On Good Friday.

For in these shadows and in this silence
We find that God can die.

Taking our brightest hopes
Our sweetest dreams
And great expectations with Him
"From the cross to the grave."

Just ask Nicodemus, or Peter, or Mary.

And, before we come to the empty tomb
We must find
We must feel
We must face
The sting of death, and the victory of the grave

On Good Friday.

Palm Sunday (Benediction)

It was not the branches waving wildly before him,
Or the humble beast burdened with Eternity.

No,
It was his hands.

Those palms,
Upon which are inscribed the name of his beloved.
Those palms,
That bless and break the Bread of Life,
Offering the Cup of Covenant
For all to receive.

“Were you there?”
Dried leaves and rags ground into dust,
The sad echo of “Hosanna”
Like ash on your tongue.

And, still
There are his hands.

Those palms,
Covering all our sin and shame.
Those palms,
Securing us in faith and in hope,
Freeing us
To live
And move
And have our being
In Love.