The Day Between

What do we do with this day, this Holy Saturday?  We are still grieving.  The reality of it all is beginning to sink in, beginning to be real.  Jesus is gone, dying alone on some hill that we don't even know.  So, what do we do today?  How do we pick up the pieces in the midst of our pain and despair and just go on with our lives?  Oh, we 21st century believers know how the story ends.  We've already jumped ahead and read the next chapter many, many times.  (Don't tell those that don't read ahead, but it all works out in the end.)

And yet, we do ourselves no favors if we jump ahead to tomorrow.  After all, the Scriptures tell us that Jesus rose on the third day, the THIRD day, as in one-two-three.  The third day doesn't happen without today.  It must be important, right?  But, oh, it's just so painfully quiet.  The sanctuary is dark, awaiting to be redressed for its coronation.  The bells are quiet, hanging expectantly for tomorrow.  And we still sit here draped in black with our Easter brights hanging there ready for us to don.  What are we supposed to do today?

Tradition (and the older version of the Apostles' Creed) holds that Jesus died, was buried, and descended into hell.  So is that what this day is?  Descent?  Good grief, wasn't the Cross low enough?  The well-disputed claim is that Jesus descended into death, descended into hell, perhaps descended into Gehenna (Greek, Hebrew--Gehinnom, Rabbinical Hebrew--גהנום/גהנם), the State of ungodly souls.  Why?  Why after suffering the worst imaginable earthly death would Jesus descend into hell?  Well, the disputed part is that Jesus, before being raised himself, descended to the depths of suffering and despair and redeemed it, recreated it.  The sixth century hymnwriter, Venantius Fortunatus claimed that "hell today is vanquished, Heaven is won today." Why is that so out of bounds of what God can do?  Don't we believe that God is God of all?  Or does it give us some sense of comfort to know that we are not the worst of the bunch, that there are always Judas' and Brutus' that have messed up a whole lot worse than any of us and so are destined to spend eternity on the lowest rungs of hell?  But, oh, think about the power and grace and amazing love of a God who before the Divine Ascent into glory, descended into the depths of humanity and redeemed us all, perhaps wiped out the hell of each of our lives rung, by rung? 

And, yet, again, we cannot leave it all to Christ to do.  Just as we were called to pick up our cross yesterday, we are called to descend down into the depths, plunging into the unknown darkness, so that God can pick us up again, set us right, and show us a new journey.  And so this day, we stand between, between death and life, between hell and heaven, between a world that does not understand and a God who even in the silence of this day has begun the redeeming work.  In some ways, this is the holiest day of the week.  How often do we stand with a full and honest view of the world and a glimpse of the holy and the sacred that is always and forever part of our lives?  How often do we stand together and see ourselves as both betrayers and beloved children of God?  How often do we stand in the depths of our human state and yet know that God will raise us up.  This is a pure state of liminality, a state, as the Old English would say, "betwixt and between."  It is where we are called to be.  It is the place of the fullness of humanity as it claims both human and divine.  In the silence of this day, we stand with God.  And we wait, we wait expectantly for resurrection, we wait for God to say us once again.  It is where we should always be.  We won't though.  We won't be there. (Remember, we've had this problem before.)  And maybe on some level, it's too much for us to always be there, always be waiting expectantly for God.  But at least we can remember what this day feels like as we stand between who we were and what we will be. 

So, for today, keep expectant vigil.  Do not jump ahead.  We can only understand the glory of God when we see it behind the shadow of death.  But, remember, shadows only exist because of Light. 

“Welcome, happy morning!” age to age shall say:
“Hell today is vanquished, Heav’n is won today!”
Lo! the dead is living, God forevermore!
Him, their true Creator, all His works adore!

Refrain

“Welcome, happy morning!”
Age to age shall say.

Earth her joy confesses, clothing her for spring,
All fresh gifts returned with her returning King:
Bloom in every meadow, leaves on every bough,
Speak His sorrow ended, hail His triumph now.

Refrain

Months in due succession, days of lengthening light,
Hours and passing moments praise Thee in their flight.
Brightness of the morning, sky and fields and sea,
Vanquisher of darkness, bring their praise to Thee.

Refrain

Maker and Redeemer, life and health of all,
Thou from heaven beholding human nature’s fall,
Of the Father’s Godhead true and only Son,
Mankind to deliver, manhood didst put on.

Refrain

Thou, of life the Author, death didst undergo,
Tread the path of darkness, saving strength to show;
Come, then True and Faithful, now fulfill Thy Word;
’Tis Thine own third morning; rise, O buried Lord!

Refrain

Loose the souls long prisoned, bound with Satan’s chain;
All that now is fallen raise to life again;
Show Thy face in brightness, bid the nations see;
Bring again our daylight: day returns with Thee!

Refrain

Just wait...

Grace and Peace,

Shelli

Were You There When They Crucified My Lord?

Today's Scripture Passage: Mark 15: 20-33
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To read today's portion of the account of the Passion, click on the below link:
http://bible.oremus.org/?ql=200598988

So they led him away and they hung him on the cross.  They chided him to save himself.  But Jesus was even too weak to carry his own cross.  They randomly pluck a man out of the crowd to help him carry it.  Now if we were doing the staging of this, we probably would have written in one of the disciples to do this, one of those who had traveled with Jesus these past years and received so much love and so much of life from Jesus.  It would have made more sense for one of those whom Jesus had stooped down below last night to wash his feet in a poetic depiction of incredible mutuality.  But that's not what happened.  As it becomes more and more difficult for Jesus to carry his cross, it is a stranger who stoops to serve Jesus.  We really know very little about Simon—is he black, brown, white, olive-skinned?  Does it matter?  He was from Libya—a foreigner to the city of Jerusalem.  Anonymously plucked out of the crowd to help a bleeding dying man, he stooped and hoisted the cross that Jesus was carrying to his own shoulder.  Even at this late hour, God has orchestrated a Divine reversal in what the world expected.  Isn't that just like God?  But, you have to wonder, where were the disciples?  Where were you?

The account says that they brought Jesus to Golgotha.  The name derives from the Aramaic golgolta, meaning "skull" or "place of the skull".  Early tradition assumed that this was a site west of the city.  And when the Lukan Scripture was translated into Latin, it became known as "Calvary."  But somewhere in history, the site was lost.  Perhaps it wasn't even a specific site at all but a sort of general area away from the bustle of the city where these crucifixions would occur.  In 330, the Emperor Constantine tore down a Roman temple to Aphrodite and built the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, which tradition now recognizes as the last stations of Jesus' journey to the cross, the site of the Crucifixion, and the site of the burial.  The present structure, built by the Crusaders, still houses the Constantine structure and the tradition.  Maybe it's best that it's like that.  Maybe it's best that the actual site of Jesus' final moments is not really known and even that Jesus' final resting place is more of a tradition than a known place.  After all, would you have been there anyway? Maybe the anonymity is the whole point, sort of a depiction of our faith journey as we wander with no real knowledge of where it is we're going--only that God is calling us there.

So, accompanied by an anonymous person to an anonymous place, Jesus is crucified.  The one who not so long ago had been surrounded by friends and followers, who a short time ago had preached to thousands on a hillside near the Galilean lake, and who only days ago had been showered with palm-branches in acclaim for who he was, was totally alone.  The one who had come into the world to save the world was now going to die in a shroud of anonymity.  It's pointless to ask the question as to whether or not you were there.  You weren't.  I wasn't.  No one was. 

The life that began in the humble anonymity of a rough-hewn manger was ending the same way on a rough-hewn cross.  Maybe that was the whole point.  We bring nothing into this world and we take nothing out.  We are here for but a short time that, by the very Grace of God, is hopefully so filled with life and love that when our life here has ended, love still remains.  We do not know exactly where Jesus was born and we can't pinpoint the location where he died.  What we do know is that while Jesus hung on the cross waiting those agonizing hours to die, God had plunged down to the very depths of humanity, to the places of loneliness and despair, to the places of abandonment and darkness, to the places where we are sometimes afraid to go.  And there, God began to say Creation into being once again.  The cross is God's highest act of Creation yet. And when it was all said and done, it was Love that remained.

H.J. Iwand said that "our faith begins at the point where atheists suppose it must be at an end.  Our faith begins with the bleakness and power which is the night of the cross, abandonment, temptation, and doubt about everything that exists!  Our faith must be born where it is abandoned by all tangible reality; it must be born of nothingness, it must taste this nothingness, it must taste this nothingness and be given it to taste in a way that no philosophy of nihilism can imagine."  So, in all probability, the explanation of the Cross is that there is no explanation.  At humanity's lowest point, whether or not we bother to show up at all, it is only God who can save us.

Were you there when they crucified my Lord?
Were you there when they crucified my Lord?
Oh, sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble.
Where you there whey they crucified my Lord?

When it was noon, darkness came over the whole land until three in the afternoon...

Grace and Peace,

Shelli

Where Were You As Jesus Stood Accused?

"Christ Accused by the Pharisees"
Duccio de Buoninsegna, (1308-11)

Today's Scripture Passage: Mark 14: 53-72
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To read today's portion of the account of the Passion, click on the below link:
http://bible.oremus.org/?ql=200505621

Most of us don't read this portion of The Passion a whole lot.  We like the image of Jesus' Anointing and we love the notion of The Garden of Gethsemane but this...this is not to our liking.  This is the story of Jesus as The Accused.  And we all know that doesn't make sense.  What did Jesus ever do wrong?  And yet, here he is, before the court.  But this man who had spent his ministry welcoming others in was alone.  Oh, wait a minute...there's Peter behind that sleeping elderly Scribe with the bad complexion.  Peter, his friend, his confidante, his disciple (Peter, as in Saint!) is there, but keeping a safe distance.  Well, I suppose he has too.  After all, the future of the Christian church rests with him, right?  He has to keep up appearances, do the right thing.  The important thing is that he is here, that Jesus knows he is here.  The important thing is that, deep down, Jesus knows how much he loves him and supports him.

Oh, we're good at this, aren't we?  We're good at figuring out how to keep up appearances, at figuring out how to offer love and support while still maintaining our own place in life.  It's difficult to associate ourselves with certain people or certain issues, even though we agree.  You see, we have to maintain our position so, please, understand, I support you, but I can't speak out just now.  I know you understand how much I love you.

COCK A DOODLE DOOOOOOO!

What was that?  That was a lot of noise!  But, seriously, it's hard to associate with certain people.  I love them; I support them; you know, I even think that they're treated badly by both the society and, sadly, the church, but I just can't.  What good would it do for me to forego my position just to make a statement on their behalf?

COCK A DOODLE DOOOOOOO!

Geez!  What IS that noise?  This man is my friend.  I love him.  But I can't.  I can't be seen with him right now.  I know he understands.

COCK A DOODLE DOOOOOOO!

And so Jesus stood alone. And Peter wept.  Peter wept for his friend but probably more than that he wept for what he was not.

I have to say that I am not a "rabble rouser".  I tend to live my life with as little drama as I can muster.  In fact, I have to admit that I would be often standing in the back of the courtroom silently supporting the accused but not wanting to put my own self in jeopardy.  We're all like that.  Isn't that interesting that we talk so much, cannot put our cell phones or our emails aside and, yet, we are silent?  It is a dangerous and destructive silence.  It is like standing in the back of the courtroom and watching the innocent of all innocents accused and not speaking out.  Because you see, it is silence that crucified Jesus; it is silence that allowed the religious Crusades of the Middles Ages exist; it is silence that created slavery as the blotch on our nation's history; it is silence that closed its eyes to Auschwitz hoping against hope that it would go away; it is silence that allowed segregation to exist in this country until late in the 20th century; and it is silence that continues to allow our church and our nation to limit who is part of us, who is part of the Kingdom of God.

And so Jesus stood accused.  Peter was in the background, safely hidden away.  Where were you? 

So, on this Wednesday of Holy Week, how would you answer? Were you there as Jesus stood accused?  Were you in the back of the courtroom?  What things do you know are wrong but about which you are silent?  Where do you voice your passions?  Where do you voice your Passion?


Grace and Peace,

Shelli

Were You There in the Garden of Gethsemane?

The Garden of Gethsemane
February, 2010

Today's Scripture Passage: Mark 14: 26-50

To read today's portion of the account of the Passion, click on the below link:
http://bible.oremus.org/?ql=200418057

Those of us who know this story both love and fear this garden.  We dream about this garden.  We sing about this garden.  This is the garden of Jesus, this garden which is named "olive press", an ordinary name for an ordinary place where the ordinary pours into the Divine, where Jesus' Passion comes to be.  I've had the opportunity to visit this place.  It was one of the most profoundly moving places that I have been.  It is a holy space, a place that allows you to see beyond yourself, a space to breathe in the Divine.  Standing among the centuries-old olive trees, the past and the present spill together.  No longer is the garden an historic place; it is a place of the Divine, a place where the Divine begins to spill into the worst of what we do.

Traditional "Upper Room"
February, 2010

Jesus and the disciples had spent the evening together--talking and laughing and sharing in the community and the friendships that they had built.  And then Jesus had raised the bread and broken it and raised the cup and poured it and had said something about them being his body and his blood, his very essence.  But they were too busy to understand.  They loved Jesus.  He was their friend, their mentor, their confidante.  But they probably didn't really understand what was about to happen.  And so they left the hot, stuffy second-floor room and, at Jesus' suggestion, took a walk in the cool, arid night air.  They were probably thinking how much more comfortable this was than the dampness that they would have felt in Galilee.  They climbed down the outside stairs and headed toward the city gates.  And once outside the gates, they followed the dark path down Mt. Zion through the Kidron Valley and started up the Mount of Olives.  They crossed over the Palm Sunday Road where they had entered the city just a few short days ago.  If one could peer through the darkness, there were still palm leaves strewn about.  It really was just a short twenty minute walk.  And they came to the garden, the place of the Divine.  Isn't it interesting that God always returns to a garden, returns to a place of wilderness, returns to a place of new life?  Isn't it interesting that Creation stories begin in a garden and then spawn new life that no one imagined before?

The Garden of Gethsemane
February, 2010

As they entered the garden, the disciples collapsed under the olive trees, heavy with food and wine and good company.  And Jesus walked away, feeling compelled to pray alone.  He was not nervous about what was to happen.  He was ready.  He prayed that God would take the cup.  I don't think it was a plea to end what was to come, but a point of resolve, a place of surrender.  "God, take this cup, it is yours.  It was always yours.  I have done what you asked me to do."  Now is the time.

He returned to find the disciples sleeping.  Really?  Sleeping?  Tonight?  Are you kidding me?  Maybe that is the biggest challenge of discipleship--just staying awake, just staying attentive to God's Presence and God's Call.  But don't you think Jesus wished that they were more ready, more ready to take on what they would be called to do?  He looked at the quiet of his friends, so peaceful, so drunk, so oblivious to what was about to transpire, and he knew that their lives would not be easy.  He knew that they would be called to be something that they were not ready to be. The truth is, God doesn't create us ready; God creates us open to be.

But after a couple of returns, Jesus had had enough.  "Get up already!" he yelled.  Are you kidding me?  And then all of a sudden, everything changed.  Soldiers burst into the peacefulness brandishing newly-sharpened swords.  And with them was Judas.  Jesus was not surprised but the tears still came into his eyes.  Judas was his friend, his confidante, probably one of the smartest followers he had.  That is why he had given him the common purse.  Judas had so much potential.  But Judas was too smart for his own good.  He had it all figured out.  He thought he could manipulate the powers that be.  Now, the non-canonical Gospel of Judas would depict Judas' act as a pre-conceived (and pre-ordained) plan.  I'm not sure about that.  I think Judas just screwed up.  I think he just resembled so many of us who fight like everything to control our lives.  I think he just thought that he knew better.  I think he possibly even thought that Jesus would pull it all out in the end and be depicted as nothing less than a great hero.  So Judas kissed him...the kiss heard round the world...the kiss that changed everything.

But, truth be known, it was too much for the sleeping friends.  And so they fled.  And Jesus, alone, already surrendering the cup, was ready.  There was no turning back.  The gates of Jerusalem had closed.

So, on this Tuesday of Holy Week, how would you answer? Were you there in the Garden?  Were you walking with your Lord or were you asleep?  And when it was all said and done, did you flee?  Or were you the one that betrayed our Lord with but a kiss?  Where were you?  Were you there in the Garden of Gethsemane?  And with this, what are you being called to do?  How are you being called to live?

Grace and Peace,

Shelli

Were You There As Jesus Prepared to Die?

Today's Scripture Passage:  Mark 14: 1-25

To read today's portion of the account of the Passion, click on the below link:
http://bible.oremus.org/?ql=200334750

Galilee is behind us.  The parade is long over.  There are no stars overhead to light our way.  The Passion has begun.  It's an odd term, from the Latin passionem, or suffering.  It looks similar to the word passive (Latin, passiuus), which definitely doesn't make sense to us.  After all, we're talking about Jesus!  But the words are indeed related.  The Passion, this time of suffering and being "handed over", is a movement from planned and intentional action to no longer being in control.  All of Jesus' actions are accomplished.  It is finished.  It is a time of waiting--waiting for others' response, waiting for our response.  We are called to enter The Passion, to enter this handing over.

"Christ in the House of Simon"
Dieric Bouts, 1440's
Staatlisch Museen, Berlin

And, so, in the first part of The Passion reading, Jesus prepares for what is to come.  First, he is anointed.  I really like the version that the Gospel writer known as John tells, but this is Mark's year, so we'll go with it.  You see, John names her.  John brings Mary into the story, into a relationship with Jesus.  Mary, or whoever this woman is, takes the expensive perfume and pours it onto Jesus.  Takes...and pours.  Where have we heard that before?  It is sacramental.  This simple act of holy extravagance brings her into the story, into life.  She is forever remembered not because she wasted the oil but because she was part of preparing Jesus to die.  With extravagant and self-giving love, she entered The Passion.  She poured herself out and handed herself over.  I wish I could be like that. I wish I could sit at the feet of Jesus and, without any regard to what is "appropriate" or "expected", pour everything out. I wish I didn't hold myself back.  I wish I could pour myself out with holy and even wasteful extravagance.

As the time for the Passover meal nears, the disciples begin to prepare and plan for the meal.  It would be Jesus' last.  The disciples didn't seem to know it at the time but this would be the final time that they were all together.  Don't you wander what the conversation was that night?  We'd like to imagine that it was rich and deep and profound, that it was prayerful and contemplative, theological and steeped with rabbinical thought, that it was something they would remember.  But last words are seldom like that.  They are usually profoundly quotidian.  Rather than resembling the life that we envision, they usually resemble the life that is.  That's probably what happened that night.  There were side conversations about family and acquaintances.  There were comments about the weather and whether it might have been unseasonably hot or unseasonably cold that evening.  And there were some speculations about the political environment and the tensions that hung in the air even that night.  They did not solve the problems of the world.  They just ate and drank and sat together. 

"The Last Supper of Christ"
Pieter Jansz.Pourbus, c. 1562-5

And then Jesus takes the bread and pours the wine.  Takes...and pours.  It is sacramental.  Yet another act of holy extravagance that brings us all into the story, into life.  But the story's ending is far from ordinary.  And to be part of it, we have to take and pour...We have to become the body and become the blood.  We have to take the cup from Jesus, this cup that has been poured out for us.

But behind the scenes, there is darkness and betrayal swirling in our midst.  We don't know what to do with this.  It is one of us.  It is one whom Jesus loves. It is one who has sat here this night and shared our meal and shared our lives.  Oh, please, do not let it be me.  As I dip this bread, let me become who I'm supposed to be.  Do not let it be me.

The truth is, we cannot be there with Jesus as he prepares to die unless we, too, are preparing for our own.  We cannot talk of this handing over unless we can let go of that to which we hold.  And we cannot take the bread and the wine unless we make room for it in our lives.  Were you there?  Were you there as love was poured out?  Were you there as Jesus took and poured?  Were you there in the betrayal?  It is too late to go back.  It is too late to change anything.  The Kingdom of God waits for you up ahead.  But you have to let go.  You have to die to self.  No longer can we just talk about something else and hope that death will go away.  We have to die to live.

So, on this Monday of Holy Week, how would you answer?  Were you there as Jesus prepared to die?  What part in The Passion did you play?  Are you preparing to die?  For that is the way that you will live.

Grace and Peace,

Shelli

Were You There at the Parade?

Palm Sunday Road, Jerusalem
February, 2010

Today's Scripture Passage:  Mark 11: 1-11
When they were approaching Jerusalem, at Bethphage and Bethany, near the Mount of Olives, he sent two of his disciples and said to them, “Go into the village ahead of you, and immediately as you enter it, you will find tied the re a colt that has never been ridden; untie it and bring it. If anyone says to you, ‘Why are you doing this?’ just say this, ‘The Lord needs it and will send it back here immediately.’” They went away and found a colt tied near a door, outside in the street. As they were untying it, some of the bystanders said to them, “What are you doing, untying the colt?” They told them what Jesus had said; and they allowed them to take it. Then they brought the colt to Jesus and threw their cloaks on it; and he sat on it. Many people spread their cloaks on the road, and others spread leafy branches that they had cut in the fields. Then those who went ahead and those who followed were shouting, “Hosanna!  Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord! Blessed is the coming kingdom of our ancestor David! Hosanna in the highest heaven!” Then he entered Jerusalem and went into the temple; and when he had looked around at everything, as it was already late, he went out to Bethany with the twelve.

Everyone loves this story.  We all like a parade!  When I was growing up, I used to love parades.  I couldn't wait for the week-end of the Katy Fat Stock Show and Rodeo and the parade on that Saturday.  And I would spend the whole three hours watching the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade, the parade that would bring the official start of Christmas.  Parades are exciting!  They are beginnings.  They usher in something.

We all know of this parade.  We like the idea of waving our palm branches and celebrating the great and glorious King.  I think I used to envision this parade with the main gates of the city open and Jesus parading down the main street of Jerusalem.  In my mind, everyone stopped to watch.  It was a glorious site.  But if you think about it a little bit (don't you hate it when people do that?), Jesus supposedly rode this poor little colt (or a donkey if you talk to the writer Matthew) straight down the Palm Sunday Road, straight down from the Mount of Olives, through the Garden of Gethsemane, towards what is essentially the back gate of the temple.   This little motley parade probably did not go down Herodian Street and probably didn't even draw that big a crowd.  These were the people that had heard (or at least heard OF) Jesus.  These were the ones who had already begun to follow him.  Marcus Borg and Dominic Crossan present the idea that there was possibly a whole other parade coming into the main gate and processing down Main Street, a parade with rulers and grand steeds and lots of royal acclaim.  And on the other side of the city, coming into the back gates, was this small processional of underdressed commoners, a small underdeveloped equine, and a diverse band carrying palm branches.

And, it appears, this half-engaged crowd didn't even really stay around.  By the time Jesus got to the temple, he looked around.  It was late and they were gone and so he and the disciples went out to Bethany (Hebrew, "House of Figs").  The other parade probably ended with an all-night party.  After all, the city was bustling.  The Passover was coming.  But Jesus and the twelve, alone, went to the house of Mary and Martha.

So, where are we?  Which parade are we watching?  Are we watching the Herodian Processional, with its grand floats and amazing giant balloons, with its bands and its celebrity master?  Or are we in this small minority watching a lowly donkey carry this man Jesus?  And at the end, do we lay our palm branch down and go back to our business?  Or do we follow Jesus to Bethany?

On this Palm / Passion Sunday, where are you?  Were you there at the parade?  Were you there when it was over?  Where are you?

Grace and Peace,

Shelli

It is Time to Go to Jerusalem...

It is time.  It is time to go to Jerusalem...

There's a part of me that wants to go back, wants to stay in Galilee where it is green and lush and safe.  But now is the time.  The tide has turned and I have to go.  It's hard because there is, oh, so much more to do.  It's hard because I don't think they're ready.  I'm worried that they're still a little bit too worried about themselves, about which one of them is the most important, about who belongs with them, about who is acceptable.  I'm worried that they don't get along with each other, that they're more concerned about their own safety and their own security and their own place in life than what they're called to do.  I'm worried that they're still just a little bit too attached to the rules of religion that sometimes they forget to follow with awe and wonder and the joy of what each moment holds.  I'm worried that it will become about religion rather than people, about order rather than children of God, about agendas and issues and which "side" one is on rather than about You.  I'm worried that they'll forget who they are.  I'm worried that they will forget that we are all children of God, that we are all called to be a part of this Kingdom. 

Lake of Galilee
(Tiberius, February, 2010)

Ruins of the Synogogue
Capernaum, Galilee, Israel

When life changes like this, when you know that going forward is the only direction to go, you can't help but become a little sentimental about the past.  It's good to remember.  It's good to give thanks for all those rich and wonderful memories that carry you forward.  So all those family pictures and images come flooding into my mind.  I remember those days around the lake when they were all so excited about the newness of it all, when they were all so sure that this was the direction that their lives should take, when they all willingly left the lives that they had built behind and went forward into the unknown, when their faith was new and full of hope.  I remember the gatherings when so many would come, when so many hope-filled faces searching for something to give their life meaning.  I remember meals together as we shared with one another.  I remember standing in the synagogue with the sun beating down and all the town stopping, if only for a moment, to listen.

Judean Wilderness near
Jerusalem
(February, 2010)

But things change.  Life marches on whether or not we're ready to go.  Out here in the wilderness, I'm reminded of that time such a short few years ago when I was here alone.  I remember being out here and being a little scared and unsure, a little tempted to turn toward something else, but so filled with faith and so aware of Your Presence with me.  It is strange that now, traveling through that same foreboding place, I am not alone and, yet, I feel so lonely.  They have no idea.  They have no sense of what we're probably walking into.  The news coming out of the city is not good.  The political climate is really not very stable, not very welcoming of any change.  The political rhetoric has become very centered on what is best for the "me's" of the world and has forgotten that we are all here together as children of God.  I suppose when we get there, there will be the faithful few that will greet us.  But I doubt they'll stay.  I doubt they'll stay when they realize how dangerous this really is.  And these with me--my brothers and sisters, my good friends, those whom I so dearly love, I'm not sure how much they can take.  I'm not sure if they can stand strong and faithful against what is to come.  I think there's a good chance that I am in this alone. 

But I know that You are with me.  I know that You will never desert me.  And I know that You are with them.  Keep them safe.  Remind them how very much they are loved.  And give them strength.  There is, oh, so much work left to do.

It is time.  It is time to go to Jerusalem...

The gates of the city are just up ahead.  There is no other way around.  This is not an easy journey.  But it one that all of must walk.  As you enter this Holiest of Weeks, what do you need to leave behind?  And what do you need to carry into the city?


Grace and Peace,

Shelli

Who Do You Say That I Am: Messiah

7th Century, Unknown artist

Scripture Passage:  Matthew 16: 13-16
Now when Jesus came into the district of Caesarea Philippi, he asked his disciples, “Who do people say that the Son of Man is?” And they said, “Some say John the Baptist, but others Elijah, and still others Jeremiah or one of the prophets.” He said to them, “But who do you say that I am?” Simon Peter answered, “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.”

Who do you say that I am?  The question seemed harmless enough.  But how would you answer it?  Who do YOU say that Jesus is?  We are approaching Holy Week.  The tide has already turned toward Jerusalem.  In just six days, Jesus will enter the city of Jerusalem for the last time.  In just six days, the end will begin.  We are all the same.  As we see the end of something approaching, we begin to scramble a bit.  We try our best to glean everything we can, to absorb all of that person, all of their essence, into our lives.  This is no different.  How do we in this short time get to know the person Jesus?  Realizing, of course, that there was an historical figure known as Jesus who was documented and made a part of history, sketchy as it might have been.  But Jesus was something more.  Jesus represented more.  Who do YOU say that Jesus is?

This interaction between Jesus and the disciples is probably the writer’s way of trying to clarify understandings of Jesus and his work and perhaps clear out some of the “misunderstandings”. Keep in mind that in 1st century Judaism, the name “Mashiah” (Messiah) had several different meanings. It essentially means “anointed”, or “one who is anointed” for a specific purpose and vocation. That could mean a prophet, a king, a warrior, or a savior. From that standpoint, the “Messiah” probably meant to each person whatever it was that would fulfill the needs and fears of that person. Also keep in mind that this version of the Gospel was probably written after the destruction of the temple and the devastation of Jerusalem. There were real fears present. There were real questions. OK, then, who IS the Messiah? Who is going to help us now? And what does that mean? Some people saw Messianic qualities in John the Baptist; others in Elijah; others in Jeremiah or others. They saw in those people the answer to their questions, the answers to their own unique array of issues, problems, and fears. But those people were gone. (And, at the point of this writing, so was Jesus!) And yet Jesus, as Messiah, lives as God’s Spirit moves and works through the community of faith building the kingdom of God. The meaning was not one that could be “nailed down”; instead it has to be lived out in one’s life.

This passage also characterizes an understanding of what the church itself is supposed to be. The word “church” is seldom used in the Gospel accounts. In fact Matthew uses it only here and in the 18th chapter of Matthew. The church is not merely an institution. This is not meant to be the beginning the Christian church as we know it. Rather, church here is referring to the foundation that spawns the continuing work of Jesus Christ in the world. It is a foundation that is so strong that nothing else can overcome it—not even death itself. The work of Christ has begun and nothing can stop it. The “key” image in rabbinic thought primarily refers to authority that is given to Peter (and to the church) to BE the church. This really has nothing to do with apostolic succession or “church authority” as we know it today. (That will come MUCH later!) It has nothing to do with building great big congregations; it has to do with being swept into the Kingdom of God and being a part of ushering it into its fullness.

The passage ends with Jesus’ directive to keep what is called the “Messianic Secret”. Why? One would think that he would want it shouted from the rooftops. And yet, the truth is not revealed until well after the Resurrection. It, again, has to be lived into. This writing is pointing to what is to come. As the story continues, Jesus’ earthly life will come to an abrupt and painful end. And, yet, the story continues, bound in heaven and heard on earth. You just have to live into it to get the full meaning and realize that God’s creative power is always and forever loose in the world. There are lots of understandings of God in this world. (Actually, who are we kidding? There are several understandings among those of us who are reading this!) Some understandings resonate with us; some challenge us; some make us uncomfortable; and, frankly, others probably just get in the way. This is not a God to be explained but one to follow. So, then, who do you say Jesus is? Jesus is not a model of the way we should be; rather, Jesus lives through us. So how does that change the answer to the question?

So, what is your understanding of "Messiah"?  What needs do you envision Jesus filling in your life, in the world?  If we say that Jesus is the Messiah, the anointed one, and we say that we are called to follow, then who are we?  Who do you say that you are as a follower of Christ?  What needs do you envision you filling in the world?

On this twenty-ninth day of Lenten observance, ask yourself the question, "Who do you say that Jesus is?", and then ask "And who does that call me to be as a follower of the Messiah, the anointed One."?

Grace and Peace,

Shelli

Vigil

Scripture Text: Habakkuk 2:20 
But the Lord is in his holy temple; let all the earth keep silence before him!

Silence...What do we do with silence? The world in which we live doesn't handle that well.  We think we need to fill it, be the first to speak, be the first to resolve its discomfort, the first to solve its discontent.  Why is that?  Why do we need to fill every space, every moment, with "stuff"?  This is the day of silence.  It is our tomb-watch.  We cannot DO anything...we must sit...just sit. And wait.

Yesterday, we lost the ultimate of control--control of ourselves, of our humanity, of our humaneness.  Yesterday, all that was good and decent and life-giving in our life died, hung on a cross and buried in a tomb.  This wasn't the way we MEANT for it to happen.  Like Judas, we have our regrets, perhaps even struggle to live with what we've done.

But this day is not about what we've done.  We need to get out of ourselves.  We need to get over it, because, let me tell you, it is not about me, it is not about any of us.  We need to stop wallowing in the self-serving aura of guilt.  What's done is done.  Humanity, I think, committed the ultimate sin.  Humanity's greed, humanity's self-preservation, and humanity's ego tried to rid itself of God, of something beyond oneself, beyond one's control.  But God is God and we are not.  Thanks be to God!  And in God's unfailing and unswerving love for what God has created, God forgives.  Not only does God forgive, God recreates what we have uncreated and makes it better than before.  The cross is God's greatest act of Creation yet.  That is tomorrow's promise.  That is tomorrow's hope.  That is tomorrow.

And so this day, we wait.  We cannot do what will be done.  This is the day of silence, the day that God, behind the scenes, sets the stage, gathering all that God knows, all that God has created in the past, all heaven and hell alike, and begins to put everything into place, staging it for what it will someday be.  This day is not ours.  This day is God's.  Tomorrow is another day, a new chapter to the story of which we are a part.  Tomorrow will come.  That is the promise.  But, for now, we just have to wait, hold vigil, sit by the tomb where we have buried what we were.  Because God has other things in mind. The Light of Life is about to dawn.

This is the day of silence. It is our tomb-watch. We cannot DO anything...we must sit...just sit. And wait.

The Saturday shadows fight the sun

Surely it’s all a dream.

We grieve our loss and quietly nurse our pain

While the world goes on in steam

Who then really is to blame?

Who’s fault do we imply?

Does it really matter now?

When innocence has died?

The world has lost all innocence

And yet no one need be judged to death

For hell this day has lost its place

Vanquished by God’s forgiving breath

This day is not for us to know

What happens in God's stead

This day we wait in silent vigil

While God moves on ahead.

On this day, this silent Saturday, just wait...there is nothing for you to do, there is nothing you HAVE to do...just wait...

Grace and Peace,

Shelli

Mary's Song

Lectionary Text: John [18:1-19:15] 16-19 [20-25] 26-30 [31-42]
Then he handed him over to them to be crucified...So they took Jesus; and carrying the cross by himself, he went out to what is called The Place of the Skull, which in Hebrew* is called Golgotha. There they crucified him, and with him two others, one on either side, with Jesus between them. Pilate also had an inscription written and put on the cross. It read, ‘Jesus of Nazareth,* the King of the Jews.’...When Jesus saw his mother and the disciple whom he loved standing beside her, he said to his mother, ‘Woman, here is your son.’ Then he said to the disciple, ‘Here is your mother.’ And from that hour the disciple took her into his own home. After this, when Jesus knew that all was now finished, he said (in order to fulfil the scripture), ‘I am thirsty.’ A jar full of sour wine was standing there. So they put a sponge full of the wine on a branch of hyssop and held it to his mouth. When Jesus had received the wine, he said, ‘It is finished.’ Then he bowed his head and gave up his spirit.

I am standing here but it does not seem real.  I want to hold him, to comfort him, to cradle him in my arms like I did when he was a baby.  But the guards are holding us back.  Oh, please, I don't think I can stand anymore.  But I must stand.  He has to know that I am here with him.  He has to know how much I love him, how much I hurt for him, how I would trade places with him if I could.

All of the memories are flooding into my head.  I remember that night when the angel came to me.  I did not understand.  I was so afraid.  But I knew I had to say yes.  I had no idea what I was agreeing to do.  And then for nine months I carried the baby in my womb. It was joyous.  In one respect, it was just like any other pregnancy, like the others I had after that.  And yet, it was different.  I always felt like there was someone there with me, guiding me, loving me, helping me through it.  It's hard to explain.  The birth itself was hard, downright scary in fact.  We traveled to Bethlehem.  It was so far, so painful.  And then when we finally arrived, it was so crowded.  The streets were wild.  I remember that nice man who let us bed down in the room that housed his animals.  I remember the first time I looked into his eyes--those dark, compassionate eyes.  Even as a baby, he had compassionate, loving eyes.  He was special.  I knew that he was special when he came into the world.  I just didn't know how wonderful he would be.  I remember the day that my cousin's son baptized him.  He didn't know I was there.  I hid behind the trees.  After all, he was an adult; he didn't need his mother always looking on.  And I remember when his ministry started.  He was so brave, so fearless.  It scared me at times.  I thought something like this might happen.  But I am so incredibly proud of him.  I am so proud of what he became, what he made others become that he touched in his life.  He was special.

No, this does not seem real.  Somebody needs to help him.  Please, please, he's asking for water.  Please, someone give him water.  I'm afraid this is it.  I'm afraid he cannot take it anymore.  I'm afraid he's going to give up.  Perhaps it would be better.  Perhaps it is better to let go...Oh, how I love him! How I want to go back, to hold him just once more!  It is over.  It is all over.  He is gone.  What was this for?  I don't understand.  Why the angel?  Why the star?  Why did it all happen if it was going to end this way?  What does God have in mind for him?  He promised me that it would be for good.  He promised me that it would be OK.  I guess I have to believe that, hold on to it, hope.  Someday maybe I'll see it.

I wanted to stay here until they gave me his body, but I don't think I can.  There are others here too--Jesus' friend Mary, who has always been so lovely toward me, and the disciples.  I hope they all realized how much he loved them, how he would do anything for them.  The rain is really coming down now and the skies are angry, angry like me.  The wind is blowing so hard, I can no longer stand against it.  There are rocks and debris sliding down the mountain above us.  It seems that the world is breaking apart.  Will the world ever know what it has lost?  Will the world ever know what it did?  Will God ever forgive this world for killing my son, their son?  Someone just told me that the temple curtain has split in two.  It is as if the holy has spilled into the world.  I can't explain it.

My son came into this world wrapped in so much hope.  He was supposed to change the world.  He was supposed to open the eyes of the world to what it could be, what it could become.  Is it all for naught?  Or, someday, will we finally understand why he came?  Someday, I know, that God will make it make sense.  But, now, today, I am grieving more than I could know.  But what a gift I've had!  What an incredible gift that was taken away all too soon!  I have to leave this place, as hard as it is.  Shabbat is starting in a few minutes.  I must go prepare, light the candles, and usher in the joy of the Sabbath.  I must go rest.  I need it.  I need it to resurrect my hurting soul.  God will be with me.



“My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for he has looked with favor on the lowliness of his servant. Surely, from now on all generations will call me blessed; for the Mighty One has done great things for me, and holy is his name. His mercy is for those who fear him from generation to generation. He has shown strength with his arm; he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts. He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty. He has helped his servant Israel, in remembrance of his mercy, according to the promise he made to our ancestors, to Abraham and to his descendants forever.”  (Luke 1:46-55)

Shalom, my dear Son!  May God's Light stay with you!

Friday dawns like all other days

And then it turns to black

My Lord is there hanging till death finally comes

There is no going back.

And then my Lord dies a horrid death

While I just stand and stare,

All hope is lost, all life is gone,

There’s no use staying there.

And then the afternoon turns black as night

And angry skies yell out

It is as if all of Creation cries

In pain and grief and doubt.

We lay our Lord in a tomb of death

His body limp and gray

There is nothing left to do

But turn and walk away.

 
On this day when we remember the Crucifixion, let us grieve for awhile and then keep vigil with the expectant hope of whatever it is God will do next!

Grace and Peace,

Shelli

The Cenacle

The Cenacle As it Exists Today
Jerusalem, Israel

Lectionary Text:  John 13: 1-17, 31b-35
Now before the festival of the Passover, Jesus knew that his hour had come to depart from this world and go to the Father. Having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end. The devil had already put it into the heart of Judas son of Simon Iscariot to betray him. And during supper Jesus, knowing that the Father had given all things into his hands, and that he had come from God and was going to God, got up from the table, took off his outer robe, and tied a towel around himself. Then he poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples’ feet and to wipe them with the towel that was tied around him. He came to Simon Peter, who said to him, “Lord, are you going to wash my feet?” Jesus answered, “You do not know now what I am doing, but later you will understand.” Peter said to him, “You will never wash my feet.” Jesus answered, “Unless I wash you, you have no share with me.” Simon Peter said to him, “Lord, not my feet only but also my hands and my head!” Jesus said to him, “One who has bathed does not need to wash, except for the feet, but is entirely clean. And you are clean, though not all of you.” For he knew who was to betray him; for this reason he said, “Not all of you are clean.” After he had washed their feet, had put on his robe, and had returned to the table, he said to them, “Do you know what I have done to you? You call me Teacher and Lord—and you are right, for that is what I am. So if I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet. For I have set you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you. Very truly, I tell you, servants are not greater than their master, nor are messengers greater than the one who sent them. If you know these things, you are blessed if you do them..."Now the Son of Man has been glorified, and God has been glorified in him. If God has been glorified in him, God will also glorify him in himself and will glorify him at once. Little children, I am with you only a little longer. You will look for me; and as I said to the Jews so now I say to you, ‘Where I am going, you cannot come.’ I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.”

The Cenacle, from the Latin cenaculum, or "Upper Room", is the place where this final gathering takes place.  We usually think of this night as the night of "The Last Supper", when the Eucharist that we so dearly love came to be.  And yet, the writer of the version of the Gospel narrative that we call John barely mentions the dinner at all.  There seems to be much more focus on Jesus himself, on what he was feeling at this moment, and how he understood what was about to happen to him.  So, if only for a moment, let us forget about the meal...

I visited the site known as the "Upper Room" when I was in Israel last year.  Now understand that it's more than likely not the REAL Upper Room.  No one really knows for sure where that was.  The traditional site may have been built by the Crusaders possibily into a building that was already there and had survived the destruction of Jerusalem in 70 A.D. under Titus.  But there was still something about going to this Upper Room.  When I entered, my first thought was, "no, this can't be right!  It's too big."  I suppose all of the artistic renditions to which I've been exposed over the years had gotten the best of me.  I had somehow imagined this stuffy little room in someone' attic.  This couldn't be right.  Then I went back and read the Scripture text.  No where does it say that the disciples were alone with Jesus.  This was the Passover feast, which would have started with the traditional Seder meal including friends and extended family.  And THEN Jesus got up from the table and went to the disciples.

But rather than looking at it solely as an historical event, think about what it really meant.  Jesus knew that this was his final night.  Everything was coming down to this place and this time--his birth, his life, his ministry--and he knew that things were about to change forever.  And all he could think about in that moment was how much he loved those who had been with him.  Yes, they were a little bumbling sometimes, maybe a little too focused on what was in it for them.  And he knew that they really didn't understand the whole thing.  But they had stuck with him.  How he loved them!  And so he gets up and kneels and washes their feet, taking each foot in both hands and caressing it like a parent caresses his or her child.  It did not matter what they thought. It did not matter that they did not understand.  And it certainly did not matter what anyone around them thought.  This was the moment.  This was the moment when he would teach them to love, would teach them to be vulnerable, would teach them to sit, to just sit there in the presence of their Lord. 

It is hard for us to understand because it is hard for us to just sit and be in the moment, to shut out the world if only for awhile.  But this moment is its own.  For in this moment, Jesus does not think about what is to come.  For just a moment, Jesus does not worry whether or not the disciples can do what needs to be done when he is gone.  And for just a moment, this moment, here in this Cenacle, nothing else in the world matters--not the betrayal, not the denial, not the time when he will die alone and despised by most of the world.  Having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end.  And so in this moment, Jesus loves.

It would be his final teaching.  I think it probably is THE teaching.  Everything is swept into to this moment--this Announced, God-With-Us, Spirit-empowered, disciple-calling, teaching, healing, raising, anointing moment.  It all ends with Love.

The Garden of Gethsemane
Jerusalem, Israel
February, 2010

After this, the Matthean version of the Gospel depicts Jesus going into the Garden of Gethsemane with his disciples and then going off to pray.  It was his final surrender.  As the night goes on, the events move faster, speeding through an almost surreal order--the betrayal, the handing over, the mock trial--until Jesus is supposedly imprisoned in a dark dungeon in the House of Caiaphas, the high priest.  There he would wait the dawn of Friday morning.

We enter now that Upper Room

And take the wine and bread

And sit as our Lord washes our feet

When we feel we should be washing instead

A late night walk down a winding path,

Into the garden we go

And in the cold of night, Jesus says

Something that we already know.

For on this night it all will end

With naught but a single kiss

Our friend, our teacher, and our Lord

Surely it can’t be ending like this.

Our Lord Jesus now is whisked away

In a flurry of chaotic swarm

And we are left with a helpless silence

As the clouds gather for the storm.

The sun has set in blackest night

And my Lord lies in chains

What has brought us to this place?

Which of us is full of blame?

The Ruins of the House of Caiaphas
Jerusalem, Israel, February, 2010

As we come so near to the Cross, let us not grieve yet.  Let us, just for a moment, love as Jesus loves.

Grace and Peace in this holiest of weeks,

Shelli        

Et Tu, Judas

The Judas Tree

Lectionary Text:  John 13: 21-32
After saying this Jesus was troubled in spirit, and declared, “Very truly, I tell you, one of you will betray me.” The disciples looked at one another, uncertain of whom he was speaking. One of his disciples—the one whom Jesus loved—was reclining next to him; Simon Peter therefore motioned to him to ask Jesus of whom he was speaking. So while reclining next to Jesus, he asked him, “Lord, who is it?” Jesus answered, “It is the one to whom I give this piece of bread when I have dipped it in the dish.” So when he had dipped the piece of bread, he gave it to Judas son of Simon Iscariot. After he received the piece of bread, Satan entered into him. Jesus said to him, “Do quickly what you are going to do.” Now no one at the table knew why he said this to him. Some thought that, because Judas had the common purse, Jesus was telling him, “Buy what we need for the festival”; or, that he should give something to the poor. So, after receiving the piece of bread, he immediately went out. And it was night. When he had gone out, Jesus said, “Now the Son of Man has been glorified, and God has been glorified in him. If God has been glorified in him, God will also glorify him in himself and will glorify him at once.


Jesus knew who would betray him.  It was his friend, the one that had accompanied him as he traveled around the lake teaching, the one who had met his family, the one who on those long nights after those just-as-long frustrating days had listened to him.  In fact, it would be the one he trusted.  The one who held the purse that bought them small but nourishing meals and paid their way, the one that had figured out how to budget the money so that they could get to Jerusalem.  It was the one that had it together.  It was the last one that he would have thought would do this.  But Jesus knew who would betray him.  It hurt, hurt more deeply than anyone would ever know.  Et Tu, Judas?  Even you, Judas?

"Kiss of Judas"
Duccio di Buoninsegna (1308)

The others will never figure it out.  They are too busy trying to figure out who it is (and trying to make sure that it's not them!)  Isn't that what we do?  In an odd sort of way, this Scripture holds some degree of comfort for us.  After all, Judas is bad, SO bad that whatever it is we mess up can't possibly be as bad.  And so the world blames Judas for all of our wrongs.  Because, if we make Judas look bad, then maybe we won't look as bad as we know we might be.  Dante would place him in the fourth level of the ninth rung of hell.  Now let me tell you, that is NOT good.  According to Dante's Inferno, Judas shares this rung with Brutus and Cassius, who played a part in the murder of Julius Caesar.  (Et Tu, Brute?)  We are no better.  As long as there is a Judas, we
                                                                                        are not the worst.

But, really, do you think God desires our innocence?  If that was the case, we might as well all hang it up right now!  The truth is, none of us is innocent.  Innocence died a really long time ago.  And, interestingly enough, God didn't have any need to resurrect that.  God does not desire our innocence; God desires us.  God desires repentance, reconciliation, and redemption.  God calls us to turn toward God, be with God, and accept that gift of forgiveness that God offers us.  That's all it takes.  If God wanted perfect people, I'm thinking God would have made them.  God would have populated the world with a bunch of stepford pod-people and things probably would have gone a lot smoother.  I don't know...maybe God wanted better dinner conversation.  Maybe God desired a good story.  Or maybe, just maybe, God wanted us to choose God rather than being compelled by something other than ourself.  And so God offers forgiveness for whatever we've pulled in the past.  Barbara Brown Taylor, in Speaking of Sin, contends that it is sin that is our only hope.  Because it is when we know that we have failed, when we know that we have moved farther away from God, when we name what it is that stands in our way, that the doors will swing open with a force we never knew and all of a sudden, we find ourselves sitting at the table in a place that we did not think we deserved.  Isn't God incredible?  So, why do we need to blame Judas?  We are all looking for God.  Sometimes we just make bad choices.  But God always offers us another chance.  Forgiveness is the starting point for change, the beginning of the rest of our eternity.

Madeleine L’Engle tells an old legend that after his death Judas found himself at the bottom of a deep and slimy pit.  For thousands of years he wept his repentance, and when the tears were finally spent he looked up and saw, way, way up, a tiny glimmer of light.  After he had contemplated it for another thousand years or so, he began to try to climb up towards it.  The walls of the pit were dank and slimy, and he kept slipping back down.  Finally, after great effort, he neared the top, and then he slipped and fell all the way back down.  It took him many years to recover, all the time weeping bitter tears of grief and repentance, and then he started to climb again.  After many more falls and efforts and failures he reached the top and dragged himself into an upper room with twelve people seated around a table.  “We’ve been waiting for you, Judas.  We couldn’t begin till you came.”[i]

Et tu, Judas!  Even you, Judas!  Even you!

The path now seems to fly beneath us

And our doubts get carried away

We begin to question if we are more apt

To follow or betray

We hear the story of Judas’ deed

And quickly jump to blame,

But more than that we have to ask

If we might have done the same.

So, in this holiest of weeks, look first at yourself and find those places that separate you from God, and then look to God.  The table is waiting.  We can't begin till you come!

Grace and Peace in this holiest of weeks,

Shelli

---

[i] From “Waiting for Judas”, by Madeleine L’Engle, in Bread and Wine:  Readings for Lent and Easter (Maryknoll, NY:  Orbis Books, 2003), 312.