THE LAUGHTER

This morning

we heard from

both of our children.

So it is already

a good day.

It seems now

so long ago,

when they were

going off to school

for the first time,

struggling with homework,

learning to drive,

fighting in the back seat,

sleeping upstairs.

At the time,

it seemed it would

go on forever:

the homework,

the driving lessons,

friends coming over,

the noise.

It is quiet now,

except when they

come home.

I would not wish

them back,

nor would they.

But I am glad

for the memories

and the laughter

of that time

long ago.

Gary

Certainty

The Christian Church

offers comfort to all,

except one.

That one is named

certainty.

Jesus once said,

“If you were blind,

you would have no sin.

But now that you say, 'We see,'

your sin remains.”

Oh, the discomfort of

certainty,

sitting in the midst of

faith.

Gary

ONE OF A KIND

I don't need another

person like myself,

he said.

One of me

is quite enough.

When he is gone,

there will be no other.

So I best pay attention to

this one.  This unique

creation.

No one like him,

before or after.

A fine and precious

jewel,

made by

the hand of God.

One of a kind.

Gary

Easter

It is not about spring.

Not about new grass appearing.

Not about the warm air,

the lengthening of days.

It is not about a fresh start,

or taking a walk in the park

to hear the birds sing.

One must go to the cemetery,

read the names on the stones.

Bring to mind the sound of his voice,

see her eyes smiling once again.

Memories and tears.

Only memories and tears.

Then, only then, hear

the story once again.

Gary

Good Friday

Jesus once said to a man, “Son, your sins are forgiven.” Blasphemy, they said. “Why does this fellow speak in this way? Who can forgive sins but God alone?”

They asked, “Are you then the Son of God?” He said, “You say that I am.”

He spoke of a kingdom, unlike any other kingdom, where children are welcome and the language of forgiveness is spoken everyday. He had conversation with women as if they were as important as men, and he sat at table with people usually not invited to dinner. And, to the ears of some, he spoke blasphemy. His fate was sealed.

When he was about the age of 33, he set his face toward Jerusalem. He did not go there determined to die, but he knew the truth of it, the possibility, perhaps even the certainty of his dying. As those who landed on Omaha Beach in 1944 or those who marched from Selma to Montgomery in 1965 or as Martin Luther King in 1968, when he went to Memphis, knew; they all knew they might be killed. So Jesus knew. He remembered the stories of the prophets put to death in Jerusalem, because they spoke against oppression and injustice. He was one of them. So he went to Jerusalem.

There is something about us that does not like the unconditional love of God when it is directed at those we deem unworthy, a love that welcomes the prodigal home, goes out looking for one lost sheep, or prays for one's enemies.

So we will do away with such love. We will nail him to a cross and be done with him.

But even there, on that cross, he will not be done with us. For his words embrace us, teach us, fill us with sadness, and yet with great hope.

So he prays for us: “Father, forgive them.” So he promises us: “You will be with me.” So he cares for us: “Woman, here is your son.” So he questions, as we question: “My God, why?” So he hungers and thirsts as we hunger and thirst: “I am thirsty.” So he finishes his work for us: “It is finished.” And finally, he trusts in God, as he would will us to trust in God: “Into your hands.”

And then he breathed his last, as we will . . . .

Gary

Maundy Thursday

Washing feet

Then Jesus poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples’ feet and to wipe them with the towel that was tied around him.

– John 13:5

It was a task

done by the servant

in this desert place.

But on this night,

it is the teacher

who wraps a towel

around his waist,

takes a basin of water,

kneels on the floor,

going from disciple to disciple,

a smile on his face,

full of love for these men,

full of joy for what he

is doing for them.

Cleansing them.

Loving them.

Near to each one.

Gary

I have been reading "The Good Book" by Peter Gomes, published in 1996.  Pastor Gomes was preacher to Harvard University at the time he wrote this marvelous book.  He died in 2011 at the age of 68.

At the end of this book, Peter Gomes writes about preaching on Christmas and Easter.  He says that there is a temptation to ". . . let out a year's accumulated bile against the 'twicesters,' as those who came but twice a year were called. . . . The problem of clerical anger on these great holy days is one thing,but there is an even greater problem, and that is what to say to people who give you at best two opportunities to tell them all they need to know about the gospel."

Gomes' contention is that people come to church on Christmas and Easter because they are hungry and thirsty, and the job of the preacher is to feed them.  It may be inconvenient that they only want to be fed on Christmas and Easter, but that is beside the point.

What meal do you set before them?  Gomes says, ". . . don't give them an explanation."  Don't attempt to explain Christmas and make sense of Easter.  "How much clerical jaw-breaking has expanded upon making reasonable the incredible, and hence the extra-rational, phenomena of Easter morning?"

He says ". . . it matters that the tomb was empty and the stone rolled away, . . ."  But what people want to know and need to know and have a right to know is ". . . what it means to them, here and now."

If I understand Gomes, he is reminding the preacher that those who come to worship on Easter are asking this question:  What difference does it make in my living and in my dying that the tomb was empty on that Sunday morning long ago?

The preacher need not explain the mystery.  Rather she will tell the mystery and invite the listener to enter in to the mystery.

Gomes closes this part of his book with a brief poem by T. S. Eliot:

You are not here to verify,
Instruct yourself, or inform curiosity
Or carry report.  You are here to kneel
Where prayer has been valid.

Gary