In some previous seasons I worked through my thoughts about God's incarnation in Jesus of Nazareth, especially as it is portrayed for us in Christmas, Epiphany and the Sundays following.
It has always been important to me that in a fully human/fully divine manifestation, even in Bethlehem's manger, God was as present with us as God could be. So that when Jesus was crucified even in our bereavement we still had all the proof we needed that God had been honest about and fulfilled the demands of finite human existence.
That's what's behind my constantly saying "God did everything God could do to be with us." No trickery, no Docetic illusions, no Arianism, no Monophysitism. Just God incarnate, fully human, fully divine, just as we recite in our creed "conceived by the Holy Spirit, born of the Virgin Mary . . . " or "by the power of the Holy Spirit he became incarnate from the Virgin Mary, and was made man."
As we move nearer and intensify our lenten approach in this Holy Week we are again focusing on God's incarnation. Sunday's procession and passion narrative pull us all into close proximity to Jesus, as well as the crowd and all those pretending at power - the chief priests, the teachers, the elders, Pilate and Herod. Lots of humanity on stage and most present of all is Jesus.
So Holy Week gets us as close as possible to the One. It is by way of his incarnation that we have the benefit of this narrative proximity. We probably undercut our own efforts by forcing all these incarnational moments into a single week of observance and reflection. But tell the story we must.
Maybe we hurry through this part of the incarnation story because it is the hardest one to enact. It recalls his being handed over by Judas, denied by Peter, abandoned by most of the others, and perhaps most difficult is our being so clearly implicated as we realize the shout of the crowd's "crucify him" is being delivered by us in our very own sinful everyday lives.
None of this is easy and our creeds also help us tell this truth when we say "he suffered under Pontius Pilate. Was crucified . . . " or "For our sake he was crucified under Pontius Pilate; he suffered death . . ."
Suffering is incarnational. In Jesus it is human AND it is holy.
He is with us. We recall his passion to help us realize that every time we suffer is a another moment for Jesus to turn up and be with us in our suffering.
There's more to it. The Good News of Easter is the rest of the incarnation story. For nowwe recall his passion to help us do our part to be with him honestly, humbly, faithfully. For now it is our work to turn up and through our human lives to follow, to be near, to trust, and to pray.
Monday, March 26, 2018
Tuesday, March 20, 2018
Lent is for Turning: Into Good Friday
In just a few days we will be joined by most of downtown Madison's Sunday morning crowd -- our invitation has included more congregations than last year -- as we follow the cross, a piper and a donkey from the Cultural Center down Main St. to turn onto Reese St. down to Academy turning once more to arrive at our churchyard. The Procession -- some of our friends will try to call it "the donkey walk" -- is counted on by many to stage the varied entrances each of our denominational kindred make in their particular Easter celebrations.
Some years the crowd has numbered more than 400. This year we'll return to Advent's churchyard for The Liturgy of the Palms and a recollection of the entry made by Jesus into Jerusalem. We'll pray together and then send our friends back to their respective houses of worship. We will turn ourselves toward the next distinctive moment in the drama that is the Sunday of the Passion of our Lord.
A collection of readers assembled by Joyce Morehouse, will take turns as their parts require and help us to hear the story that moves rather poignantly into the days immediately after Jesus' triumphant entry. Mark's Gospel relies on a familiar cast of disciple and soldier, priest and governor, bystander and passer-by. Included in the voices are ours as all those attending worship are expected to repeat the horrible command "Crucify him!"
The crowd is not just a mob remembered from that first century lynching but it is each and everyone of us as we admit our complicity. We are expected to "play the part" because it's true. By our lives of "things done and left undone" we are just as much the ones who would require a sacrifice. Our sin cannot be undone by simply observing the drama that unfolded over 2000 years ago.
In every way we can, we must confess and name ourselves as members of the mob who leveraged the collusion between Rome and Jerusalem. Every time we enjoy a privilege of class or color, every time we scurry under the wings of secular powers, every time we act out of selfishness and fear we are joined to that horrible chorus.
But we must go there because Good Friday makes no sense for us without our confession. And so the narrative continues and we are there mocking Him and finding out too late what we have joined.
You could ask that obvious question, weren't we just outside, singing "Hosanna in the highest"? Yes, we were. And that was necessary as well. The tragedy of His dying is just as much or more caught up in our duplicity, our contradiction, and when it gets worse, the abject hypocrisy of which we are all guilty.
Palm Sunday turns into GOOD Friday. And we call it good because we are the broken ones, we are the hypocrites, we are the mob. And He is good. Good enough to be our king, to lead us triumphantly, to see to the repair of all our broken-ness, the exposure of all our hypocrisy, the undoing of all our sin.
Some years the crowd has numbered more than 400. This year we'll return to Advent's churchyard for The Liturgy of the Palms and a recollection of the entry made by Jesus into Jerusalem. We'll pray together and then send our friends back to their respective houses of worship. We will turn ourselves toward the next distinctive moment in the drama that is the Sunday of the Passion of our Lord.
A collection of readers assembled by Joyce Morehouse, will take turns as their parts require and help us to hear the story that moves rather poignantly into the days immediately after Jesus' triumphant entry. Mark's Gospel relies on a familiar cast of disciple and soldier, priest and governor, bystander and passer-by. Included in the voices are ours as all those attending worship are expected to repeat the horrible command "Crucify him!"
The crowd is not just a mob remembered from that first century lynching but it is each and everyone of us as we admit our complicity. We are expected to "play the part" because it's true. By our lives of "things done and left undone" we are just as much the ones who would require a sacrifice. Our sin cannot be undone by simply observing the drama that unfolded over 2000 years ago.
In every way we can, we must confess and name ourselves as members of the mob who leveraged the collusion between Rome and Jerusalem. Every time we enjoy a privilege of class or color, every time we scurry under the wings of secular powers, every time we act out of selfishness and fear we are joined to that horrible chorus.
But we must go there because Good Friday makes no sense for us without our confession. And so the narrative continues and we are there mocking Him and finding out too late what we have joined.
You could ask that obvious question, weren't we just outside, singing "Hosanna in the highest"? Yes, we were. And that was necessary as well. The tragedy of His dying is just as much or more caught up in our duplicity, our contradiction, and when it gets worse, the abject hypocrisy of which we are all guilty.
Palm Sunday turns into GOOD Friday. And we call it good because we are the broken ones, we are the hypocrites, we are the mob. And He is good. Good enough to be our king, to lead us triumphantly, to see to the repair of all our broken-ness, the exposure of all our hypocrisy, the undoing of all our sin.
Tuesday, March 13, 2018
Lent is for Turning: In Community
I wrote last week about how some of our turning in Lent can be understood as more course correction than reversal. Our movements should respect the context and those others who are moving with and around us. Overcorrection or undercorrection can invalidate our efforts.
The worst result from overcorrection is isolation and from undercorrection is inertia. Neither are outcomes that faithfulness in community intends.
Yes, there are times when one must go it alone but not into isolation. That's how the "Reconciliation of a Penitent" works. Only I can say my prayers of confession. You must say yours. The sacramental rite is structured to support that principle. Because it is sacramental it also ensures that the church, in the person of a priest or other designated confessor actually hears what is said.
Indeed it is the very hearing of what is said in confession that expresses the church's sacramental intention. Once what is confessed is heard, God has something real with which to work and ultimately effect forgiveness.
Between the regularity of the rite and the effect of God's forgiveness is a focusing embrace that validates what has been previously only hoped for. Through dialogue with one's confessor the penitent is given direction and counsel and is assured of their continuing to be held within the fellowship of the church.
The confessor doesn't absolve the sin but speaks the words of absolution that rely entirely on God's promise to forgive. We do what we do trusting God to do what God promised and we say so! It's audacious! Without that audacious trust there'd be little with which for us to make a community.
Undercorrection may be more of a problem because it has less ritual proscription. But as in the case of reconciliation's prevention of isolation speaking and hearing are the keys. Even the hymns we share on a Sunday can help. As we sing, each one's heart is lifted or moved. Together we urge each other along, to try harder, to do more, to not stop so that our timidity or lack of confidence doesn't prevent further turning.
Everything we do in unison can have that urgency. Our common prayers, our creedal rehearsals, our call and response biddings assume an "us" on the move. Again the context is community. Again we are ritually cooperating with God so that our actions express an inclusive, forward focus.
TBTG when each one turns it is the church turning! TBTG we are community turning toward God!
The worst result from overcorrection is isolation and from undercorrection is inertia. Neither are outcomes that faithfulness in community intends.
Yes, there are times when one must go it alone but not into isolation. That's how the "Reconciliation of a Penitent" works. Only I can say my prayers of confession. You must say yours. The sacramental rite is structured to support that principle. Because it is sacramental it also ensures that the church, in the person of a priest or other designated confessor actually hears what is said.
Indeed it is the very hearing of what is said in confession that expresses the church's sacramental intention. Once what is confessed is heard, God has something real with which to work and ultimately effect forgiveness.
Between the regularity of the rite and the effect of God's forgiveness is a focusing embrace that validates what has been previously only hoped for. Through dialogue with one's confessor the penitent is given direction and counsel and is assured of their continuing to be held within the fellowship of the church.
The confessor doesn't absolve the sin but speaks the words of absolution that rely entirely on God's promise to forgive. We do what we do trusting God to do what God promised and we say so! It's audacious! Without that audacious trust there'd be little with which for us to make a community.
Undercorrection may be more of a problem because it has less ritual proscription. But as in the case of reconciliation's prevention of isolation speaking and hearing are the keys. Even the hymns we share on a Sunday can help. As we sing, each one's heart is lifted or moved. Together we urge each other along, to try harder, to do more, to not stop so that our timidity or lack of confidence doesn't prevent further turning.
Everything we do in unison can have that urgency. Our common prayers, our creedal rehearsals, our call and response biddings assume an "us" on the move. Again the context is community. Again we are ritually cooperating with God so that our actions express an inclusive, forward focus.
TBTG when each one turns it is the church turning! TBTG we are community turning toward God!
Tuesday, March 6, 2018
Lent is for Turning: It's a stumbling-block thing.
I was walking on a sidewalk on the Sewanee campus with my son David this past Saturday and moved into single file to make room for a group passing the other way. They did not similarly align themselves and effectively forced both of us off the walk. It was disturbing.
Just common courtesy would say take some level of care for others in a situation like that. That's what people do. We adjust our direction and make room for each other. I'm still trying to figure out how it happened. Maybe, they weren't aware of us. They didn't seem to be in a hurry. They for sure were not competing in a three-legged race or in any way constrained to stay side-by-side. All they had to do was what David and I did; turn enough to keep our overall direction and leave space for others to pass.
That is also a type of turning that Lent expects of us. Yes the core definition from the Hebrew of turning is a reversal of course back toward God. But that only works if we understand repentance as a one and done act.
Check pages 293 or 304 in the Book of Common Prayer and you'll see this question, "Will you persevere in resisting evil, and, whenever you fall into sin, repent and return to the Lord?" It is part of our Baptismal Covenant. We promise to persevere, "with God's help" because our lives do not stop at the moment of our promising. Because our lives continue to suffer falling into sin.
Like navigating a Sewanee sidewalk we must keep turning, resisting evil, and repent and repent and repent. Some turns are reversals, some adjustments, some courtesies, and some have nothing to do anyone else but we must keep turning.
Lent is for turning and turning and turning and not for locking in on a path born of stubbornness or dismissal or even worse, fear and enmity. Like it says in 1 John 20:10, "The one who loves his kindred continues in the light, and his life puts no stumbling-block in the way of others."
It's even harder when we're intending to walk with each other or in parallel. Sometimes our own failing/falling leaves us unable at least for the moment to adjust or to turn. Sometimes we need someone to turn and lend a hand or turn and protect themselves and avoid piling up others also coming along the path.
Each person's life is unique and known as such in the eyes of God. So it will not work to impose -- like lockstep marching -- the exact same gait, pace or progress. Our walking together, our shared passage back to God calls us to turn and turn we must.
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