Good? Friday

Good Friday is really annoying. It’s annoying because, well, for one thing, we usually like Fridays. They come at the end of a work week. Sometimes it’s even a payday! Fridays are a time to relax a little before the to-do list is tackled on Saturday. Fridays usually are good. Except this one. This one is definitely bad. And not only was it bad, it was bad for everyone involved. It was bad for Pilate who didn’t want to be bothered, it was bad for Peter who denied Jesus not once, mind you, but three times. It was really bad for the disciples who ran and hid so they wouldn’t be arrested either. Of course, it was really, really bad for Jesus. The ultimate worst day of his life. I mean it ended with him dying. It just couldn’t get any worse. And, if I may belabor a point here, Good Friday is annoying because we have to relive it every year. Every year we hear the verses that tell us how everyone fell short of understanding who Jesus was. EVERY YEAR! It’s not like once in a while we hear something different to, you know, change it up a little. Nope. Every year it’s the same bad news. Depressing story, depressing ending, annoying Pilate and Sanhedrin. Just sad, the whole thing.

And then, and then…I have to stop whining. I have to be “re-tuned” to hear what it is about, this sad, depressing, downer of litany about what happened 2000 plus years ago. Because there was a reason for what happened. It wasn’t just some story passed down to scare us and make us feel depressed every year. There is a reason for this.

I am a sinful person. Lest you feel smug, excuse me, but so are you. We are both saint and sinner as Brother Luther pointed out hundreds of times. I really don’t deserve to be forgiven all the stuff I do or even don’t do. I walk away from responsibilities. I walk away from people I love when I don’t want to hear them. I practically run away from God some days. And when I finally get to Sunday, I usually stop, turn and look up at the cross. That somber symbol of the day. It’s there before me, accusatory and yet not. Making me face who I am, yet still shadowing me, cloaking me, covering me.  Bringing me back to the God I profess to love. I remember that Jesus had a choice, too.  He didn’t have to go to the cross for us. He even asked God to get out of it—just like I do! But he didn’t get out of it, he didn’t walk away, he didn’t take the easy way out. He interposed himself for us. Big word, interposed. In this case it means: to place between two people or things. He placed himself between God and man or woman or child or whatever pronoun you want to use. He put himself between God and us, so that God would see not just the ugly stuff, but the good stuff, too. Jesus put himself there on purpose. Not because we deserve it, but because, well, because he sought us out. He took on our sins in this horrible drama that gets played out so death can’t have the final word. We are saved by Jesus’ blood. I should be more joyful in light of this. More vocal in my praise. I have been saved by Jesus’ blood.

Instead, I wander around like I’m the captain of my own ship, answerable to me and me only. In my own private and personal thoughts, I’m good enough, so what’s the problem? I need to be reminded of the cross, really not once a year, but every single day! God loves me every single day. How can that be? I don’t seem to be particularly lovable in my actions, my thoughts and deeds. That love that binds me to him through that sorrowful symbol of the cross is also a blessing. Thank God I’m loved! Through no actions or thoughts of my own. Thank God! Thank God.

This sad, depressing story of Good Friday is actually a story of love so big, that there is not really any way to measure it, to quantify it, to even grasp it. It’s just too all encompassing. Too magnanimous. Too amazing in its grace. So full of mercy and goodness, that we need only to think of today as Good Friday. Because it is good. And no walking or even running away from God can separate us from him.  Because of Jesus. Because of the love that is sealed with this cross, with his actions, with this love never ceasing.

Maybe Good Friday isn’t as annoying as I once thought.

Questions?

Our adult Sunday School class has been studying a book entitled: Lenten Journey: Beyond Question by Eric Burtness. It can actually be used as a day to day devotional guide if you wanted to, but as is my wont, I skip around as we discuss the topics and questions that come about. I think it's been a particularly good book to work though as the questions that Jesus asks, which is what the book dives into, aren't easy. They are complex questions that have complex answers--none of them "right or wrong". This may prove a problem for some. People like to have yes or no, black or white, do you  or don't you answers to questions posed. But how are you supposed to answer these: What are you looking for? Do you wish to be made well? or even Why do you doubt?

Oh sure, in the short term these questions can be answered. But in the long term, that's kind of different. What are you looking for? in the short term could be as simple as my glasses (have you looked on top of your head?). But in the "bigger picture", I'm not sure I know what the answer to that is. What am I looking for in life? In a Savior? In my community of faith? These questions have no concrete answer. They can be picked and pulled apart for years even without coming to a satisfying conclusion. The one that caught a couple of us last Sunday was, "Do you wish to be made well?" On the surface, it seems like kind of goofy question. Of course, I want to be made well! Who wouldn't? But when you get right down to it, sometimes we don't really want to be made well. Some people get an awful lot of mileage out of "being unwell" either physically or mentally. They seem to like not having certain responsibilities because of their illness. The response to this might include other questions like: Well, not right now, how about later? Or what will I have to do if I am?

The last one asked in the first paragraph is a real good question to get a discussion started. I can't wait until we talk about that one. Can you come out and join us when we do? It will probably be next Sunday or the next one, but which ever one it is, I hope you'll join us.

Lenten Thoughts

We have entered the season known in the church as Lent. It lasts from Ash Wednesday (this year the day before Valentine's Day) to Maundy Thursday which falls on March 28th. During this time we get together on Wednesday nights for food and worship. If you haven't joined us before, it would be a great time to do so as all of us get together at one time as opposed to two services.

In thinking about this time of Lent, sometimes people get kind of anxious or worried. When I was growing up, people used to struggle mightily with what they would "give up" for Lent. In our family, it was usually candy, as that was something we loved to indulge in, and would show our devotion by not having rotten teeth for a few weeks. But I have begun to evolve in my thinking about "Lenten discipline" and have decided instead to give in to things. No, not to candy (although I do still love it). Instead I have decided that giving in to Lent involves helping out with the Lenten plays we have as part of our worship. It involves teaching on Sunday mornings. It entails trying to think less of myself and more of others. I am not trumpeting my devotion, I'm simply saying that instead of that inward denial that seemed to be part of my Lenten season every year, I've decided that outward reaching and embracing could be more rewarding than anything I've done before.

How about you? What have you decided? Will you be giving up or giving in? It doesn't matter really what you decide to do, even if you decide not to do anything. The only real important thing to remember is that we are all joined together this season. Getting together for reflection, meditation and food, too! So I hope you will join us. And just in case, don't bring any candy. I might decide to give that up as well!

It happens every year

That's right, every year we, as a church family get together and figure out our finances for the upcoming year. In the process we talk about what has transpired during the past year. I guess every church does this and the Congregational Meeting as we have come to call it ranges from a Pastor's report to highlights from most of our committees. Some people would rather have their teeth pulled than come to this meeting. I understand, sort of. It's not exciting or usually uplifting or maybe even inspiring, except it really kind of is--and I'll tell you why.

The Church, not the Lutheran Church mind you, but the church as drawn and realized by the followers of Jesus, is over 2000 years old. It exists not to figure out the finances of its parishioners, although we do that. It exists because we follow the Christ. We are all part of something bigger than ourselves individually, bigger than our egos (which can be pretty big sometimes), bigger than numbers on a page--whether those numbers represent money, people or property. The church exists to be The Lord in the world, his hands and feet. We do this together whether we like the guy next to us or not, whether the weather is nice or not, whether we "feel" like it or not. Because we are all individuals who come together for this corner property, we are sharing a vision of the one began all those years ago. It can be exciting because we are working together to build something bigger than ourselves.

So stick around for the meeting if you can tomorrow. It may not be earth shaking or pew thumping, but I promise you, it will change the world if only by agreeing to meet at one service and be the hands and feet of God.

Reflections in a Christmas Ball

Standing in front of the Christmas tree on this New Year's Eve day, I am pondering what the new year will bring and what I've received from the previous year. Not the material things, the "other" things. Now lest you think I will get all sappy here, please keep in mind that I received a diagnosis of basal cell cancer that I wasn't too thrilled about!

Each year I am filled with a profound sense of the Lord's work, but I only seem to see it at the end of the year more clearly (I guess Paul, that great letter writer would be nodding his head, all that stuff about the mirror dimly). God's presence was there in the big things (our daughter's wedding) and the small--seeing a butterfly close up without it flying away. I felt Him when I visited our nephew's grave and longed for it when, on a rainy afternoon I thought no one cared.

The Christmas tree with its shiny ornaments and twinkling lights is a passing thing. Soon it will be time to take down the decorations, empty out the cookies tins, tuck away the outdoor lights and life will continue on as it has for years. But what do we take away from this past year? What can we say about the gifts The Lord has bestowed on us, not just for Christmas but all the year? What can we do to bring about the light in the dark places? This is I think what the New Year is about. Reflecting on what has taken place, sure. But thinking about the possibilities of the year coming up as well. Where will we be and what will we be doing?

Let's celebrate the New Year by being the light bringers! Let us share the hope that Jesus brings to all we meet, so that next New Year's Eve the light reflected on the Christmas balls on the tree will be the same light He shares with us each day.

Have a wonderful and safe New Year.

Chritmas Eve

This is the night that I used to suspend all logical thoughts and believe in the magical. When I was a kid, this was the night that Santa came to our house, appeared in our living room (we didn't have a fireplace, so there was no way he was coming down the chimney) and left a piles of presents for my siblings and I. We helped our dad decorate the tree, the smells coming from the kitchen of baked pies for the next day's dessert, and giggled and wiggled until far into the night waiting for the next day.

But also in the room was my mother's elaborate Nativity scene. It was not lavish, nor imported from some foreign land. It was put on top of a card table or placed on top of the stereo speakers completely obliterating it. It was a large wooden platform that had some grainy green stuff for the base which I think was that fake grass from train sets. It had a sandy path which led up to a wooden barn-like thing. It had sheep grazing around and occasionally sipping from the mirror placed amid the sand and grit to look like a pond. One of the sheep had a busted leg, so we had to prop him up on a piece of stick placed to look like a log near the pond. Each day my mother would read from the purple "Advent book" and we would either place a new figure in the scene or read about something related to the scene. By the time Christmas Eve rolled around the scene was set and after church on this night, we would come home and place Mary and Joseph in the old barn, looking at an empty manger. See it wasn't Christmas yet. Jesus made his first appearance on Christmas morning, so we couldn't add him in until the correct time.

The Nativity scene I have in my own home fits on the mantlepiece around the chimney (yes, I have a fireplace now). It's not as homespun as my mothers and not as big. But the pieces are lovingly placed each year throughout Advent, waiting until Christmas morning for Jesus.

The magic of the season is with me still. Maybe not the Santa part. But the small baby part, coming to redeem us from ourselves. God coming down once again in the mystic communion of the night to see his creations and let us know that as unworthy as we are of his love, He loves us still.So there is still magic in the night tonight. The magic of love and wonder and awe. God comes down every Christmas, indeed every day of every year. What could be more magical than that?

Merry Christmas all!

Do You Need Proof?

I get a couple of devotions delivered to my in box every day.  They vary as to whether they actually touch me or even resonate at all. But once in a while a line or two will reach out of my computer and grab me by the arm...well, maybe just grab my mind and it is such a startling experience that I have to write it down somewhere to remember at a later time. This happened the other day. This devotional is using a book by Dietrich Boenhoffer to make it's point and most of the time, I think he's either too deep or to cerebral for me. But just the other day I read this and thought, well, yeah, this is great:
 
Only when I forgo visible proof, do I believe in God.

It reminded me of reading C.S. Lewis' book, Mere Christianity. He reminded me that if I go looking around for proof positive that God exists and is there (or here or anywhere for that matter), I'm not going to find him. Because to have faith means to believe when there really isn't anything concrete to put my hand on. And I feel like that is what Advent and even Christmas is all about, too. Does it really have to be proven that Mary was a virgin? Do we have to get all astronomy minded about the "star of Bethlehem"? Do you need to know that the angel chorus was a hundred, a thousand or just a couple? The most basic thing to remember is that God came down. God so loved our poor pitiful souls that he was willing to sacrifice his own son to show us that love. I don't think it matters whether the stable was wooden or really a cave. And I'm pretty sure the evidence of three kings dropping by is non-existent. But God's love is pretty tangible. And if I can get sappy for a minute or two, it seems really real, tangible and certain at this time of the year, more than almost any other. I've seen more charitable acts, witnessed more kindnesses, and heard more "good will to men" than at any other time of the year. And I really don't care if it's just at this time of the year either. At least it's at this time of the year! At least we can feast our eyes on the marvelous works of a starry cold winter night, of family and friends who join together in song and praise, or rest quietly from a long days labor while reading once again that story of the first Christmas. It's a good story. A loving story, and it feels true because it is just so, well, unbelievable.

So I will forgo the visible proof that God exists and continue on my merry faith-filled way in the sure and certain hope that Jesus loves me, this I know. With or without the multitude of heavenly hosts filling me in on it.