Gladness for Sorrow

I’m late again today, sorry about that.  Today is La Donna’s Dad’s birthday, so we got up this morning earlier than some of us really wanted to on a Saturday and drove the nearly two hours to Crumstown Cemetery.  It was gray and rainy as we drove, sleeting part of the time, or rain with chunks in it, as La Donna says.  We didn’t say a lot as we drove, but I know all of us were praying that the rain would let up before we got there.  And it did.  The wind still whipped across the little open ground cemetery, making us wish we had reclaimed the winter coats, but at least it was dry.

We had the little vault that would hold his ashes, but were also searching for La Donna’s mom’s ashes which were just in the black box and buried there almost six years ago.  We wanted to put them together in the same vault and then re-bury it all together there in front of the stone that had been newly carved with Don’s date of death.  La Donna’s brother dug in the rocky ground and we tried to remember how far down the first box was placed.  After a couple of attempts and nearly giving up and burying them separately, we found her, a little deeper than we remembered, a little closer to the headstone than we thought.  But we put them together and squeezed the little tube of epoxy that the funeral home gave us to seal the vault and then set it in the hole.

Shivering we pushed the dirt over the top and then relaid the sod, stomping it down as best we could.  When it was done we stood, shivering in the wind for a moment, unsure what to say or do next.  Until La Donna, ever the practical one, looked at me and said “Well, say a prayer and let’s get in the cars where it is warm.”

We all laughed at that, and I obediently prayed.  With tears in our eyes from the cold air and the months old grief, we said goodbye on a gray and windy day.  We hustled to our cars, shrugged into our inadequate coats, ready for warmth and another drive home.  But, we lingered, as though unwilling to release the moment.  We stood on the grassy gravel of the drive and talked about our lives since last we were together.  La Donna had some business with her brother, farm business.  I watched her walk over to his truck with papers in hand.  Things have not been good between them since their father died.  Differences of opinion on how to proceed, how to honor the past and prepare for the future.  Anger and hurt, threats even, it is sad.  It happens in families, I must have seen it a thousand times, but it is hard to watch from this vantage point. 

I don’t know what the business was, or what they needed to talk about, but I watched them every moment, in case.  In case of what, I don’t know, but just in case.  After a few moment, I saw her laugh at something.  It seemed genuine and true, as if the clouds had parted for a moment and the sun peeked through.  I relaxed, just a little bit.

Jeremiah had a tough job.  It was a cold and windy period in the history of God’s people.  There were enemies without and disagreements within.  And, as is so often the case when the prophets were called to speak, the people seemed to have forgotten who they were. 

Or maybe not who they were, but whose they were.  They had released their grip on the vision that had brought them through a wilderness, they had settled back from the hard work of living in the community that had given them an identity.  They abandoned the law that was handed them and chose to live by the law of convenience or circumstance, the law of every man for himself, the law of expediency and profit, of power and getting even.  The law that felt good when feelings were raw.

So, Jeremiah was charged with poking them in those raw feelings, correcting them when they didn’t feel like they were doing anything wrong, or not doing anything that anybody else wasn’t doing.  He had to point out their flawed logic, their self-centered motives.  He had to remind them of their failings as members of a covenant community.

Worse than that, he had to point out the consequences.  You keep doing that, he would say sounding a lot like their mothers, then here’s what is going to happen.  The rot at the center of their thinking would take them over, eating away at them until they were nothing but shells, empty and hurting and not understanding why.  They would turn on each other, eating away at whatever dignity they thought they could cling to. 

Who would want to listen to that?  He was hated, to put it mildly.  Tossed in prison, thrown in pits, ignored by most, jeered at by others.  His name has become descriptive of a rant of negativity - a jeremiad is “a woeful, wrathful bad-news bearing message or messenger,” says one commentator

Hardly a source for a sermon series titled “Laugh Out Loud,” the Aldersgate folks are thinking by now.  At least I hope they are thinking that.  But actually it makes perfect sense to get a hopeful, joy-filled message from Jeremiah, if you know where to look.  If you are reading through the bible this year with us, then your Fridays are filled with dour messages from Jeremiah.  But hold on, we are almost there.  And where is there?  To the “Little Book of Consolation” as it is called.  Chapters 30 through 33 in Jeremiah take on a completely different tone from the rest of the book.  It is as if God knew that Jeremiah was wearing out and needed a respite, or the people were languishing under the bad news and needed to hear something else, so these chapters were tucked in here as an oasis to keep us going in the dry and thirsty desert.  Our reading for this week comes from that little book of consolation and sounds just the right note.  Take a look:

Jeremiah 31:10-13  Hear the word of the LORD, O nations, and declare it in the coastlands far away; say, "He who scattered Israel will gather him, and will keep him as a shepherd a flock."  11 For the LORD has ransomed Jacob, and has redeemed him from hands too strong for him.  12 They shall come and sing aloud on the height of Zion, and they shall be radiant over the goodness of the LORD, over the grain, the wine, and the oil, and over the young of the flock and the herd; their life shall become like a watered garden, and they shall never languish again.  13 Then shall the young women rejoice in the dance, and the young men and the old shall be merry. I will turn their mourning into joy, I will comfort them, and give them gladness for sorrow.

“I will give them gladness for sorrow.”  Gladness isn’t just relief, isn’t just a grim smile in a difficult moment.  Gladness is about joy abounding.  In the bible, the word gladness is usually used to talk about weddings.  And for the people of Israel, there was no better party than a wedding party.  Gladness appears seven times in the book of Jeremiah, and four of them are about the end of gladness.  It is taken away, it is ended, it is no more, because of the hard-headedness of the people.  But three times (all of them in the little book of consolation) is it a promise and a hope. 

The sweetest joy comes in the midst of sorrow.  The deepest laughter comes bordered by tears.  Or perhaps the most healing laughter, the most transforming joy comes in the midst of struggle and brokenness.  A worship series about laughter is not about ignoring the realities of a world of hurt and suffering.  It is about acknowledging hope in the midst of a darkest of days.  It is about trusting with more than resignation and the burden of slogging our way through our own lives, but with the lightness of heart that allows there to be laughter in the cemetery. 

I will give them gladness for sorrow.  It is a promise we can live with.

Shalom,
Derek

Restoration Comedy

Every now and then all those classes in Theatre History come in handy. I was reading our scripture for this week and a term from one of those classes just jumped out at me: Restoration Comedy. Oh yeah, you are saying with skepticism clouding your eyes, I remember not reading a single thing about that!

Or, maybe you did. I can’t be the only one who spent hours of an undergraduate degree program studying things of dubious usefulness for most of life. Can I? Never mind, I don’t think I want to know.

Restoration Comedy, also called Comedy of Manners, was a late 17th and early 18th Century theatrical style that was all the rage among the classes in England and the Continent. Part of the reason for its popularity is that it made fun of the aristocracy. The lower classes loved seeing those with power being made to look like fools. And those in power enjoyed seeing their colleagues taken down a peg, secure in the knowledge that the object of the joke was that other guy and not them! But in fact, while the antics of the upper crust was the context of the comedy, it was never designed to question the status quo and seen by many historians as shoring up the class system in the minds and hearts of the whole of society.

Yet, boundaries were pushed. Another significant milestone of Restoration Comedy was the advent of women! Oh, wait, women had, of course, been around before this period of history. But this is the first time in modern history when women acted on the stage in any significant numbers. In the Elizabethan period all the female parts were played by young boys, because ... well, because. Let’s just leave it at that.

Not only on stage, however, but the first women playwright appeared writing Restoration Comedy. And a good thing too, because the subject matter was, well, let’s just say a little more palatable when presented between men and woman. Ribaldry, that was the term that fit, risque humor, flirtations and innuendo. What was once taboo was now subject for public humor, not explicit by today’s standards, but earthy, human, real life men and women, relationships and misunderstandings, longing and desire, failure and success, hope and disappointment, anything and everything played out on the stage of human experience, and played for laughs.

That’s how they got away with it, you know. Because it was comedy, no one thought to take it seriously. No one thought that humor could change reality from an oppressive social system into something more, something different. And yet, changes were afoot.

Psalm 126:1-6 When the LORD restored the fortunes of Zion, we were like those who dream. 2 Then our mouth was filled with laughter, and our tongue with shouts of joy; then it was said among the nations, "The LORD has done great things for them." 3 The LORD has done great things for us, and we rejoiced. 4 Restore our fortunes, O LORD, like the watercourses in the Negeb. 5 May those who sow in tears reap with shouts of joy. 6 Those who go out weeping, bearing the seed for sowing, shall come home with shouts of joy, carrying their sheaves.

Some of the most significant Psalms are some of the shortest one. Like Psalm 23, this one is only six verses long. And yet it points to a deep reality. Wait, you are thinking, “a deep reality”? OK, it is a nice psalm, even fun in a way, laughter and shouts of joy, great, good. But deep? It isn’t even the end of tears and proclamation of heaven, because the last couple of verses remind us that we are still in the midst of the struggle. Sowing in tears and go out weeping. It isn’t all good news, no rainbows and unicorns here. There is still the struggle of daily living. There is still the risk of loss, the futility of pouring out not knowing that your efforts will bring a return or not, there is still the recognition of the fragility of life and hope.

And you can’t help but feel lost in these six verses anyway. Is the bad time over? Have we returned home, are the dreams realized? If so then why is there a prayer for restoration halfway through? “When the Lord restored the fortunes ...” writes the psalmist only to turn around a few verses later and write “Restore our fortunes, O Lord!” Did it happen and we lost it? Or is the dream only a dream and we woke up and there wasn’t anything to laugh about, nothing to shout with joy for? Are we still waiting for the Lord to do great things for us? Or did it happen and we missed it somehow, we lost our grip on those great things and lost our grip on joy?

We want our fortunes restored. The recent mega-lottery storyline has us all thinking, boy, if that was me ... We are still convinced that if we only had a little more, were a little better off, all would be well. But maybe that is a misunderstanding of the psalmist’s idea of fortune. Maybe the call is for something else entirely. Not the material well-being provided by a good harvest, not the sheaves we would bring in when the weather conditions are ideal and the timing is perfect. Restore our fortunes, O Lord.

What was restored in the era of Restoration Comedy? The year 1660 is considered the beginning of this renaissance in British Theatre, and it was also not coincidentally the year the Puritan ban and subsequent closings of all the playhouses in the country. What was restored was the ability to laugh, to enjoy poking fun at the antics of human frailty and pretension. The joy of exposing human life at its most vulnerable, our creatureliness.

Sometimes we get so wrapped up in the seriousness of our situations, the struggle and brokenness, the slights real and imagined from those who seem to be our enemies, we are overwhelmed by the tears with which we sow that we can’t even imagine reaping, let alone shouting for joy as we do it.
Perhaps what we are begging for, praying for is the ability to laugh again, to hope again. Living as a person of hope and joy is a claiming a fortune no lottery can award.

Restore our fortunes, O Lord. Fill our mouths with laughter and our tongue with shouts (shouts, mind you, not chuckles under our breath, not grins behind our hands, but shouts) of joy.

Shalom,
Derek

Eastertide

Eastertide. Old fashioned word about an ancient ordering of an outmoded schedule of a world that used to make sense. Eastertide. Not much place for it in our busy lives. Hey, we managed to squeeze in Lent, sort of, kind of, for a while anyway. It would be too much to expect to hold onto the mood, the emotion, the intensity now that the Alleluias have been sung. Heck, even in the ancient calendars the Sunday after Easter was called “Low Sunday.”

So, yeah. Eastertide. Big whoop. Let’s move on. Unless you take another look at the word. Eastertide. Easter. Can’t argue with that part. Everyone likes Easter. Better than that, everyone needs Easter. Sounds like spring, doesn’t it? Sunrise, green grass, flowering trees, warm breezes and invitations to embrace world waking up after a long winter’s nap. Easter: speaks of life and hope and joy. Resurrection, transformation, forgiveness, new start. Everyone needs a little Easter.

But it comes and goes. One day. A big day to be sure, but it is over before it has barely gotten started. You can’t help but feel a little let down. All that work, all those extra services, those extra songs, those extra words. Then it is gone. We climbed a mountain, but you can’t live on the mountaintop. Can you?

Can you? Tide. Eastertide. It comes rolling in, regular as clockwork, inevitable as sunrise. Slow, perhaps, almost unnoticeable, but persistent. The tide embraces the shore, the tide washes over all that had been left high and dry. What had been cracked and bare, bleached and sere, lifeless and strained, when the tide comes in is refreshed and renewed and sparkling with life.

Easter is not a brief moment in the light of the Risen Son. Or rather it is that, but it is not only that. There is Eastertide, it keeps rolling in and over, rushing into the dry places of our heads and hearts, enlivening our souls that have left high and dry by a too busy schedule and a mixed up set of priorities. It flows over us refreshing parched hopes, dampening burning resentments, immersing stinging wounds in the cleansing warmth of Eastertide.

Who says we don’t need Eastertide? Who says it is a worn out system made for a world that no longer exists? Not me. Not you, I hope. So, how are we going to splash around in this Eastertide?
OK, time to change the metaphor. What else washes over us like the tide rolling in? What else are we helpless to stop and yet grateful when it comes over us? Laughter. The best medicine. There is an ancient tradition that on Easter Sunday the priest would climb into the pulpit and tell jokes. No sermon that day, just jokes. It was a day for laughter. For losing control. For side-splitting, tears rolling down the cheeks, can’t hold it in a moment longer laughter.

So, I decided this Eastertide we would laugh together. I looked around and found some biblical references to laughter or fun and put them together so that for four weeks of Eastertide we can, perhaps, laugh together as we consider our faith.

We start with some verses from Paul’s letter to the Corinthians, and what seems to be a ludicrous idea. Take a look:

1 Corinthians 3:18-20, 4:10-13 Do not deceive yourselves. If you think that you are wise in this age, you should become fools so that you may become wise. 19 For the wisdom of this world is foolishness with God. For it is written, "He catches the wise in their craftiness," 20 and again, "The Lord knows the thoughts of the wise, that they are futile." ... Ch. 4 We are fools for the sake of Christ, but you are wise in Christ. We are weak, but you are strong. You are held in honor, but we in disrepute. 11 To the present hour we are hungry and thirsty, we are poorly clothed and beaten and homeless, 12 and we grow weary from the work of our own hands. When reviled, we bless; when persecuted, we endure; 13 when slandered, we speak kindly. We have become like the rubbish of the world, the dregs of all things, to this very day.

We are fools for the sake of Christ. I am in the midst of a conversation with a colleague who tells me I am missing the point of this passage. He argues that it isn’t about humor, about fun or even about foolishness. What it is really about, he tells me, is identification with the poor. Or better yet, recognition of the poor. He says the problem was that the church in Corinth was neglecting the poor, not even seeing them right in front of their faces. They were too full of themselves, too certain of their own worth and value and priority. Paul was trying to take them down a peg or two, trying to open their eyes to the real needs around them. Don’t make it all about you, Paul says to the church in Corinth, God’s glory just might be shining on the ones you least suspect. The “we” in Chapter four is not us, we’ve been left out, its them - the neglected, the broken, the hungry, the poor.

Though we’ve been arguing about this for about a month now, I think he is right. It is about seeing beyond our images of ourselves, our credentials, our “goodness” to acknowledge that some are being left out, not admitted to the table. And we are the gatekeepers keeping them out with our attitudes and our “holier than thou” tone of voice. It is about perspective, about opening eyes.

But I believe that Paul helps us into this mindset by issuing an invitation. Paul opens our eyes by clowning rather than by lecturing. He is applying a pin to the bubbles of our self-image. In the first Chapter of this letter, Paul says, consider your own call, you weren’t so hot. There’s nothing special about you. OK, I’m paraphrasing here. But he is trying to knock us down a peg or two. He is calling us fools. All of us are fools. How did Shakespeare put it? “All the men and women merely players, with their exits and entrances...” Merely players, fools acting a part. The question is can we embrace our foolness enough to build up the body, to welcome the outcast because she is just like you, to forgive the sinner because he is just like you?

It is an invitation, with whom do you want to align yourself? Those who hold themselves above, those who are more worried about power and position, about right and order, about strength and safety; or those who embrace the foolishness of life and live with the joy of Easter washing over them all the time. In other words, since you’re gonna be a fool either way, wouldn’t you rather be a fool for Christ’s sake than a fool for your own sake?

Shalom,
Derek

Empty Enough to be Filled

The sun is shining. The flowers are blooming. The clouds are fluffy. And it is the weekend. A spring break weekend. Awesome. Right? Hard to imagine anything better, isn’t it? Hard to imagine needing anything else. It would just seem greedy to want more, to ask for or hope for more. Don’t you think? We are content, we are complete. We are all we need to be.

Laying it on a bit thick, aren’t I? I know you are beginning to feel set up already. It started so well with the sunshine reference, and now I’m backing you into a corner. OK, you’ll grudgingly admit, there is more to life than sunshine and flowers. Can’t think of what it is at the moment, but certainly there is.

Well, while we all ponder that a moment, let’s take a look at our reading for Easter Sunday. It is Mark’s turn this year. I love all the stories and the nuance they put to the description of the first Easter Sunday morning. They all tell it a little bit differently (or in John’s case, a lot differently, but never mind) but there are common themes. There are women on their way to the tomb, there is a startling announcement, there is an empty tomb, and there is a reaction that sets the stage for what comes next. Only Mark leaves us with a great big “huh?”

Mark 16:1-8 When the sabbath was over, Mary Magdalene, and Mary the mother of James, and Salome bought spices, so that they might go and anoint him. 2 And very early on the first day of the week, when the sun had risen, they went to the tomb. 3 They had been saying to one another, "Who will roll away the stone for us from the entrance to the tomb?" 4 When they looked up, they saw that the stone, which was very large, had already been rolled back. 5 As they entered the tomb, they saw a young man, dressed in a white robe, sitting on the right side; and they were alarmed. 6 But he said to them, "Do not be alarmed; you are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He has been raised; he is not here. Look, there is the place they laid him. 7 But go, tell his disciples and Peter that he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him, just as he told you." 8 So they went out and fled from the tomb, for terror and amazement had seized them; and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.

La Donna redid the chore charts for the kids today. They were less than thrilled, to say the least. But I suspect (I hope) that they will do the jobs that are on their list, eventually. Even if they do it with less than enthusiastic abandon.

We don’t know much about the mindset of the women who went to work that Easter Sunday morning. We don’t know if they went dragging their feet, or with a driving sense of duty, or with a passion to do this one more act of service for the one who had taught them about loving. We don’t know if they chatted with one another along the way or if silence had wrapped them up in clouds of separation and loneliness with each plodding step. At least until someone thought of the stone.

That’s something that occupies our thinking most of the time, even in difficult moments: obstacles. How can we do the task we are here to do? How can we continue on? Who is going to take care of the problems that we know are there? But give them credit, they didn’t turn back. They kept coming with doubt in their minds.

And then their minds were turned inside out. However many years of Easter celebrations have dulled our senses to the shock of this morning. Attempts to put ourselves in that place even through the most imaginative of exercises always will fall short. “Alarmed” hardly describes it, but it was the best that Mark could do. Luke says they were perplexed. Matthew says they ran away in fear and great joy.

Terror and amazement is how Mark concludes the story. Here is the bible study part of this reflection. The most authoritative manuscripts of the Gospel of Mark end right here. “They said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.” The end. The verses that follow were added in later by a church uncomfortable with that original ending, or so say most scholars. We can’t end with silence. We can’t end with fear. We can’t end with nothing to anyone. We can’t end with emptiness.

Can we? Perhaps Mark’s message, perhaps the impression that he wants to leave us with is that there is nothing we can do to enhance this Easter act. This is not our proclamation, this is God’s. Our job is to be empty enough to be filled. Our job is to stop focusing on the barriers, the obstacles, the reasons why we can’t possibly be joy-filled and welcoming, why we can’t be loving and supportive, and let the resurrected Christ fill us up enough to actually live out our faith.

Sure it is easy to fill ourselves up. To occupy our thinking and our doing with stuff that while satisfying is not necessarily transforming. Or to fill ourselves up with things we think we ought to be doing but have no real passion for doing. When a life of fulfillment and significance awaits us. That’s the Easter promise, the resurrection possibility, that when we acknowledge our own emptiness there is more than enough joy to fill us up. There is life available, and no better place than to realize it than in a cemetery on Easter morning.

Christ is Risen. Alleluia.

Shalom,
Derek

April Fools

Someone said that New Years’ Day used to be on April 1st and when it got moved to January 1st some folks forgot, or wanted to hold on to the old one, or simply refused to acknowledge the change and so continued to celebrate New Years on April 1st. Naturally these folks were called April Fools. On the other hand, maybe I just made all that up as a faux explanation for the phenomenon of April Fools’ Day.

Maybe it has connections back to the Roman Festival of Hilaria. Think about it, wouldn’t you want to celebrate the Festival of Hilaria? Just sounds great! Or the Mediaeval Festival of Fools, that sounds like a don’t miss on everyone’s vacation schedule. Both of these were spring, or even vernal equinox celebrations when everyone goes a little crazy after a long cold winter. There was an element of turning the tables on these events, a bottom of the heap folk seeing how the other half lives dimension. They were designed to vent the pressure that sometimes leads to revolution, by acknowledging that sometimes life just isn’t fair. That the have nots are not any less than the haves. It was a chance for just a day, just a moment, to get back, to get even, to get your two cents in, a sort of “so there” in your face, thumbing your nose at those who think they are in charge of everything and everyone.

So, of course, Palm Sunday on April Fools’ Day is strangely fitting. You know the story, you’ve marched in the parade. You didn’t know you were participating in civil unrest, did you? You didn’t realize you were making a statement about how the world was ordered, I’m sure. But that is what this event was designed to do and to be. Take a look:

Mark 11:1-11 When they were approaching Jerusalem, at Bethphage and Bethany, near the Mount of Olives, he sent two of his disciples 2 and said to them, "Go into the village ahead of you, and immediately as you enter it, you will find tied there a colt that has never been ridden; untie it and bring it. 3 If anyone says to you, 'Why are you doing this?' just say this, 'The Lord needs it and will send it back here immediately.'" 4 They went away and found a colt tied near a door, outside in the street. As they were untying it, 5 some of the bystanders said to them, "What are you doing, untying the colt?" 6 They told them what Jesus had said; and they allowed them to take it. 7 Then they brought the colt to Jesus and threw their cloaks on it; and he sat on it. 8 Many people spread their cloaks on the road, and others spread leafy branches that they had cut in the fields. 9 Then those who went ahead and those who followed were shouting, "Hosanna! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord! 10 Blessed is the coming kingdom of our ancestor David! Hosanna in the highest heaven!" 11 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.

On of the questions endlessly debated is whether this incident was accidental or planned. Did Jesus one day decide to make a trip into Jerusalem and a parade broke out? Or was this deliberately chosen and planned out to make a statement at this specific time? The truth is we may never know. But what we do know is that the Jesus who spent the first part of the Gospel of Mark telling people not to tell who he was, to keep it all a secret, all of a sudden makes a big announcement.
He rides this colt into the city of Jerusalem, and his followers walk with him and shout “Hosanna! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord.” Neither of those were random acts. When a king is going to war he rides a horse, when he is proclaiming himself a king of peace he rides a donkey, and only enhances that statement of peace by choosing an unridden colt. The words that were spoken come from one of the enthronement psalms, used when a new king was coming into power.

Hard to miss, really. A slap in the face to all those who thought they were in charge. A declaration of authority and power in a place of power and authority who saw him as an outsider. It was like the best April Fools’ prank ever. The one who appeared powerless is the one who is the King of Kings. The one who rode into a war zone with the authorities out for his blood, is the Prince of Peace.

Hosanna was a common word in royal psalms. It was understood by most folks to be a statement of celebration, a shout of joy and welcome. And it was. But originally it had a translation and it meant “Save Us” or “Save now!” For leader after leader, the crowds would shout save us to one who more often than not was more concerned about his own safety and prosperity. And now they shout Hosanna to the one who can save them, but most of the city doesn’t even know what is going on.

When we lift our palms and wave them on Palm Sunday morning we declare our allegiance to the Prince of Peace, the very one the world considered a fool and did its best to destroy. And perhaps we are participating in the best April Fools Day ever.

But then on the other hand, sometimes April Fools get fooled. Maybe a better description is to acknowledge that the world resists being turned upside down. Or at least it won’t stay that way for long. The powers and principalities of this world come rushing back in and order as they understand it is restored.

That is why Palm Sunday is not just Palm Sunday, it is more properly Palm/Passion Sunday. That slash is important. It is a reminder that there is risk involved in taking the side of the marginalized. There is danger in trying to upset the status quo. And just when you think you’ve won your point and gathered your crowd, you discover you are alone again.

At least that was Jesus’ experience this Holy Week. From the parade to the way of sorrows, from the king of peace riding on a donkey to a hated criminal hanging on a cross, from “Hosanna” to “Crucify him” in a matter of days. Who’s the April Fool now?

Maybe it is us, for clinging to hope in a hopeless world. Maybe it is us for embracing life in a world obsessed with death. Maybe it’s us. Maybe it’s him, proclaiming Easter joy in a Good Friday world.

Maybe so. Still, I’ll wave my palm and shout my hosannas, even though... Call it April Fools’ if you want. I’d rather be a fool for Christ anyway.

Shalom,
Derek

Cast Away

I feel strangely unmoored this weekend. La Donna is away for a UMW meeting again. Maddie is off dancing at her studio. Rhys is tucked away with games somewhere in the house. The dogs are recovering from the goose stalker on the pond (long story). But probably most disconcerting is that I am not preparing a sermon for tomorrow.

Oh, I’ll be there. And I’m looking forward to what Chris will share with us at worship. But after so many years, so many services, so many sermons, there is just something wrong ... no, not wrong ... just ...not ... right. Hmm. I seem to be at a loss for words here.

You know that feeling. That something is just out of place. Something is broken, or out sync. The funny wheel on the shopping cart. The tiny stone in the shoe. You just limp along feeling out of sorts. And when someone asks you if everything is ok, you don’t even know how to answer. Because nothing is wrong, really. Just not ... right.

Or maybe you do know. Maybe there was a word spoken that you wish could un-speak. Maybe there was a effort you should have made but didn’t, and now it is too late. Maybe there was a response you should have held in, an event you should have acknowledged, a call you should have made. Maybe your brokenness lies heavy on your heart today.

Whichever, whether known or unknown, the feeling of disconnect is very real. What we need is not explanation, but antidote. And where better to turn than to worship. At least that is the suggestion of the Psalm for this week. Take a look:

Psalm 51:1-17 Have mercy on me, O God, according to your steadfast love; according to your abundant mercy blot out my transgressions. 2 Wash me thoroughly from my iniquity, and cleanse me from my sin. 3 For I know my transgressions, and my sin is ever before me. 4 Against you, you alone, have I sinned, and done what is evil in your sight, so that you are justified in your sentence and blameless when you pass judgment. 5 Indeed, I was born guilty, a sinner when my mother conceived me. 6 You desire truth in the inward being; therefore teach me wisdom in my secret heart. 7 Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean; wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow. 8 Let me hear joy and gladness; let the bones that you have crushed rejoice. 9 Hide your face from my sins, and blot out all my iniquities. 10 Create in me a clean heart, O God, and put a new and right spirit within me. 11 Do not cast me away from your presence, and do not take your holy spirit from me. 12 Restore to me the joy of your salvation, and sustain in me a willing spirit. 13 Then I will teach transgressors your ways, and sinners will return to you. 14 Deliver me from bloodshed, O God, O God of my salvation, and my tongue will sing aloud of your deliverance. 15 O Lord, open my lips, and my mouth will declare your praise. 16 For you have no delight in sacrifice; if I were to give a burnt offering, you would not be pleased. 17 The sacrifice acceptable to God is a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise.


Wait a minute, you are thinking. How is that about worship? It is about sinfulness and the need for confession. Yes, and ...? It is about the separation from God and the need to be cleansed. Right, and ...? It is about guilt, heavy burdensome guilt and the need for restoration to joy. Certainly, and ...?

And what? You are getting on my nerves with all this “and?” stuff. Where are we going here, what is the point that is being pointedly pointed at? Or something.

Where do you go for restoration to joy? Where do you go to be purged and made clean? Where do you go for a new heart? Worship, of course. The purpose of worship is to glorify God. And the result of worship that glorifies God is to reconcile the worshiper with the Presence. For reconciliation to take place cleansing must occur. For cleansing to occur an open heart must be offered. For an open heart to be offered, a hunger must be acknowledged.

When we come to worship hungry, then something happens, we are transformed, we are healed, we are made clean. We are made right with God, and then it becomes possible to be made right with one another. That is why we worship as a body, so that the effect of our worship can be felt between us as well as within us.

That is what is missing when we are missing from worship. That is the “not right” feeling that we get when we are away from the body. Many have spoken to me about that lack, that unsettled feeling that we get when we miss worship for whatever reason. It is hard to name sometimes, but it is real. The truth is we can have that feeling even when we are present in worship. Because presence doesn’t always mean engagement. Presence doesn’t always mean coming hungry. We are so filled up by the busyness of this life that we forget how hungry we really are. We forget to seek the face that defines us, that accepts us, that loves us with a love almost beyond description. We think we are self-sufficient, when in fact we are anything but. We are needy. We are often empty. We are hungry for that word of acceptance, of unconditional love. We are hungry for meaning and direction and hope.

And our unspoken fear is that the one we seek this from won’t offer it. That we are somehow not worthy. That we are too dirty to be made clean. Too broken to be made whole. Too rotten to be made healthy. And that feeling of disconnect is not just inside us, it is from that source and we are cast away from all that will make us “right.”

The Psalmist feels that too. And yet there is a plea, there is a hope, there is a remembrance of wholeness and joy. So, the psalmist seeks it, even as we seek it. The psalmist worships even as we worship. That we might be made right again.

Create in me a clean heart, O Lord, and put a new and right spirit within me. That’s our prayer, our theme for worship. Then our lips will open and our mouths will declare praise. Come and worship, come hungry and worship with joy. Amen.

Shalom,
Derek

Faith and Begorra

And a happy St. Paddy’s Day to one and all. Though it is somewhat ironic that the symbol of Irishness in this country is an English aristocratic kidnap victim stolen from Wales and abducted to Ireland who became a priest and returned to the country to which he was taken. Kind of weird when you think about it. Add to that the fact that in Ireland, St. Patrick’s Day was a religious celebration and the pubs were all closed, at least until very recently. The first St. Patrick’s Day parade in Dublin was held in 1994 as a tourist attraction. All of which means St. Patrick’s Day as we commonly experience it - with the green beer and green rivers, with the kiss me I’m Irish buttons and leprechaun t-shirts - is a thoroughly American construct. Not that there’s anything wrong with that!

But spare a thought for poor St. Patrick. First of all, kidnapped and taken across the Irish sea to a foreign land, forced into slavery for six years until he finally escaped. You know his heart was full of prayers in all that time. Had to be. Prayers for rescue, prayers for redemption, prayers for salvation.

Had to be. Because he went back. He went back because his heart was full of prayers. Prayers for rescue, prayers for redemption, prayers for salvation. Except this time they weren’t prayers for himself, but for the people he somehow - don’t even try to figure it out, it doesn’t make any earthly sense - the people he somehow learned to love. So much so that his life and work caused the people of Ireland to name him their Patron Saint.

An incredible story to be sure. Only made credible by the power of prayer. The power of the Spirit to work transformation in hearts. Patrick’s heart, certainly. And the heart of a nation.

“Real prayer,” writes Richard Foster in Celebration of Discipline, “is life creating and life changing. ... To pray is to change.” Our Spiritual Discipline of the week (or one of them anyway) is Prayer. And I got there by looking at Psalm 107. Now you almost have to look at it all to get the grand sweep of the psalm. And in worship we will try to unpack it a little bit more. Here I want to start with the lectionary passage. Take a look at the verses chosen this week:

Psalm 107:1-3, 17-22 O give thanks to the LORD, for he is good; for his steadfast love endures forever. 2 Let the redeemed of the LORD say so, those he redeemed from trouble 3 and gathered in from the lands, from the east and from the west, from the north and from the south. ... Some were sick through their sinful ways, and because of their iniquities endured affliction; 18 they loathed any kind of food, and they drew near to the gates of death. 19 Then they cried to the LORD in their trouble, and he saved them from their distress; 20 he sent out his word and healed them, and delivered them from destruction. 21 Let them thank the LORD for his steadfast love, for his wonderful works to humankind. 22 And let them offer thanksgiving sacrifices, and tell of his deeds with songs of joy.

Prayer. OK, the word prayer isn’t actually in those selected verses. All right, I’ll admit it, the word prayer doesn’t appear in any of the forty-three verses of Psalm 107. And, frankly, most commentators would say that Psalm 107 is about something completely different. Yet, if you look closely, you’ll have to admit that prayer permeates this psalm. Just substitute synonyms: give thanks - pray; cried to - prayed; thank the Lord - pray; offer thanksgiving sacrifices - pray. See? It is there.

More than that, the kind of transformation that Foster was talking about is there as well. From sickness to healing, from the brink of death to deliverance, and from desperation to thanksgiving. It is there. “To pray is to change,” says Foster and we can hear an “Amen” from the writer of Psalm 107.

In fact, this change is what Psalm 107 is really all about. If you take a wider look in the Psalm you will see a repeated theme. Verse 17 above says “Some were sick...” Verse 4 says “Some wandered in desert wastes...” Verse 10 says “Some sat in darkness and gloom...” Verse 23 says “Some went down to the sea ...” The psalm is full of folks in trouble, folks on the edge, folks dealing with difficult days. Folks in need of prayer, in other words.

Folks like Patrick. OK, I don’t know for sure in a fact check-able kind of way that Patrick prayed while enslaved in Ireland. But given what his life became, I don’t think it is a big leap to assume. And maybe, but this IS a stretch, he started that cliched Irish statement “Faith and Begorra.” Which is a shorted form of “By my faith” as in a way to live and “by God” which is choosing to put your trust in something beyond yourself and the hope to see beyond your current situation.

OK, it is a stretch. Trying to put too much meaning in a meaningless phrase. Sort of like pointing out that Goodbye is really a shortened form of God be with you. And when you say goodbye you are not just waving, but actually conferring a blessing, actually praying a prayer. Silly really. Sorry.

Well, then how about this final note on this St. Patrick’s Day - March 17th is not the day he was born, it was the day he died. So, Patrick is remembered not just for existing, but for giving himself away, for sacrificing because of a prayer.

Shalom,
Derek