Category Archives: Christian Faith

May 22, 2023 · 10:10 pm

Pondering Pentecost

When the day of Pentecost had come, they were all together in one place. And suddenly from heaven there came a sound like the rush of a violent wind, and it filled the entire house . . . . Divided tongues, as of fire, appeared among them, and a tongue rested on each of them. All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other languages, as the Spirit gave them ability.
(Acts 2:1-4 NRSV)

Imagine you were there, in the city for the Pentecost festival, celebrating and giving thanks for the first fruits of the wheat harvest. Maybe you traveled some distance to attend, as was expected of the devout worshippers of the One God. Others were present as residents of Jerusalem, having made the City of David their home some years prior. Whatever the situation, just 50 days prior you had been present for the Passover festival, and now it was Pentecost.

Your memories from Passover were still fresh. You had been among the pilgrims when the One they called Messiah entered the city. You were aware of his arrest just a few days later. Then you heard he had been crucified – another victim of Rome’s brutal sense of justice.

But the most astonishing reports had circulated in the days that followed, that he was somehow once again alive! These reports even reached your home town miles and days away from Jerusalem. Could it be true? Now, back in the Holy City, reports from the grapevine newsfeed were that his followers had resurfaced, and were preaching and teaching in this risen One’s name.

Coming to Jerusalem for a major festival was always a melting pot experience. People of different lands, languages and ethnicities gathered in the common cause of faith and devotion. Jews and God Fearers alike occupied the city, with some Gentiles around, looking to profit off the business opportunities a crowd brings. And, of course, the ever present Romans, keeping – enforcing – the peace.

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April 6, 2023 · 3:24 pm

A New Commandment

The more memorable congregational moments in my tenure as a pastor often coincided with one of the supporting service types of worship experiences found alongside a high holy season. It wasn’t the Christmas Eve service, for example, so much as perhaps an Advent service leading up to Christmas. And it wasn’t Easter worship, for me, as much as the Maundy Thursday service a few days prior.

I’m thinking of this today on Maundy Thursday. It’s the beginning of the Triduum, the three days beginning with Thursday evening through Easter Sunday, that mark the Paschal celebration of Jesus’ last supper, Garden prayers, arrest, trial, death by crucifixion, burial and resurrection. Each of the events of these days are significant, and each worthy of our attention. But there is an intimacy and togetherness found in the Maundy Thursday observance that has always deeply moved me.

Maybe it was the scene of that upper room, prepared for Jesus and the Twelve to share the Passover. I can imagine these men coming together for their celebration. Already the week in Jerusalem had produced surprising outcomes. There had been the triumphal entry parade, the cleansing of the moneychangers from the Temple, and significant teaching moments by the Messiah. Sharing a Passover meal would be a welcome respite and time of reflection away from the crowds. Yet, this night began with such an unexpected, and to some extent unwelcome, overture from Jesus as he insisted on washing their feet!

Writing this last sentence brings to mind prior Maundy Thursday services where we had some version of foot washing. Truly this act of service is one that makes its recipient humbled. How like Jesus to provide such an object lesson for the Twelve. It must have set a tone for their time together. Through their mix of shame (why didn’t one of them do this?) and having been humbled, they must now have been ready to listen to the Teacher.

Yet, what followed was no less astonishing. Jesus repurposed the Passover to tell of his coming death, assigning new meaning to the bread and the cup, representations of His body and blood which was to be broken and shed for sin – all sin, their sin and ours. Then, as the evening was drawing to a close, John tells us (John 13:34) that He gave them a new commandment. Here is where we get the term “maundy” from the Latin word “mandatum” meaning mandate or command: “love one another, just as I have loved you”.

A good teacher will tell you that presenting a lesson through varied methods raises the likelihood of its being remembered. People retain information more, for example, when they not only hear words, but also put their other senses to the retention. If we “see” a picture retention increases. If we have a “hands on” discovery of learning retention grows even more pronounced. Jesus was a good teacher. He gave His disciples a well-rounded lesson this night that engaged them through multiple mediums of presentation. They heard his words, but they also saw his actions, and they felt his touch. This new commandment, to love one another as He had loved them, would stick because of all the ways His life had and would demonstrate love.

As I reflect back over some of the more meaningful Maundy Thursday worship experiences of years gone by, I think part of their meaning came from the multisensory connections they utilized – sight, sound, touch, taste, light, darkness, silence and more. Jesus did so much more than tell us to love one another, he showed us what love is. He lived love, touched our lives with it, gave us a way to remember it, celebrate it, and share it. Standing on the cusp of another Triduum I’m mindful of this. Maundy Thursday was the opening scene in what would prove to be a meaningful beyond description last act of Jesus’ earthly life and ministry. Just as it prepared His Disciples to become attuned to what was coming, so might it help us to grasp the meaning of these days once again. So might it help us in obedience to His command: “love one another, just as I have loved you”.

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April 2, 2023 · 8:34 am

Parade Rest

On this Palm Sunday we turn our attention to the readings of Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem (Mark 11:1ff; Matthew 21:1ff; Luke 19:28ff; John 12:12ff). This is such a story of juxtaposition. On the one hand we have the celebratory acts of what appears to be a spontaneous parade of welcome. People line the street and then cover i,t with their cloaks and palm branches in advance of Jesus’ passing by on the donkey’s colt. It’s the fulfillment of prophecy (Zech. 9:10-11) and in the tradition of a royal or military entrance into the city. Herod or Pilate, in the name of Caesar would have made these kinds of entrances into Jerusalem, though with more might and prestige.

But on the other hand, Jesus’ entrance into the Holy City of David on what we’ve come to call Palm Sunday, while triumphant, was also humble and surrounded with feelings and acts of sorrow and contemplation. Luke records the pause Jesus makes at a scenic overlook (19:41ff) to weep over the city and announce it’s one day overthrow. He then takes the reader with Jesus and the Disciples to the cleansing of the Temple (19:45ff). How can one day encapsulate such differing outcomes?

This is what makes Palm/Passion Sunday such a perfect entry point into Holy Week. It holds in tension these various and opposite emotions that will continue to play forth through this week. We are alerted from the beginning that things are moving toward a climax, which will involve sorrow, suffering, anguish and triumph and victory.

How often life holds these same tensions together. How often gain is companioned by loss, pain comes with joy, suffering precedes celebration. The oxymoron term “parade rest” feels a fit descriptor of this day and all it stands for. Which is it going to be, a parade, or rest? Turns out, both. Jesus will parade into the city in triumph, with the joy and praise of the people, the climax of his mission within sight. And Jesus will rest with the awful truth of what is about to transpire at Calvary. The Disciples will rest with the tension of a Messiah who is at once both the answer to all they’ve prayed for, and an unexpected if not down right confusing messenger of how those prayers will be answered.

The only fitting response to Palm Sunday is to throw ourselves into the mixed responses. We too should proclaim with praise and joy that the King is coming. We should worship this King Jesus and welcome Him into our day, this week, and our lives. But, knowing as we do what lies past the threshold of the week’s opening act, let us also be prepared to “rest” with our King. Let us be ready to visit the hard places of the week, to reflect, confess, weep and keep vigil in the throws of grief and loss. Let us give these days their due as we join the parade and rest along its route.

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March 19, 2023 · 1:16 pm

Daffodil Delight

A few years ago now we purchased a home where a prior owner had planted a varied assortment of daffodils.  These clusters of bulbs gave growth to shoots of green in the early to middle weeks of February, about the time of our move in.  In the ensuing days we would delight in watching how they bloomed, and their varied displays of spring color.  We discovered traditional yellow daffodils, some with a white outer bloom and yellow, almost orange, center; and still more that were miniature versions of the aforementioned traditional yellows.   Clusters of these flowers came forth among the landscaped beds that bordered the back, side and front lawns.  Some clusters even emerged amidst the lawn.  There was no mistaking the fact that the one who had planted them loved her daffodils. 

That first spring of our occupancy happened to coincide with the global pandemic of 2020, which gave the daffodil show even more meaning in my book.  While the world was trying to come to grips with what the pandemic meant, embracing lockdowns and quarantines, our lawn was virtually bursting forth with brilliant color.  It was a not-so-subtle message of hope amidst the news of despair that continued to bombard us. 

This now is the third spring since, and once again the daffodils are doing their thing.  They got off to an early start as warmer weather prompted their cycle of growth this year.  Shoots were emerging in January, with first blooms coming mid to late February, or sooner if in a protected pocket where the warmth of the sun coaxed them forth.  I’ve transplanted most of the lawn bulbs back into the landscaping with mixed results.  All have come up, but some seem to protest their relocation by refusing to bloom.  Still, overall we’ve had a customary show of yellow, white and orange dazzle against the backdrop of a greening lawn and the beige of mulched flowerbeds.

Then, over the past few days, as is typical during an Indiana March, a cold snap has hit.  The immediate impact on the daffodil blooms was an obvious shock that found them with lowered foliage, and drooping heads.  A few flakes of snow rested on the blooms, with more covering the surrounding lawn.  Had our hopeful friends misjudged the timing of their show?  Would they now succumb to an early end? 

Sadly, some – those in the less protected pockets of exposure – seem worse for wear.  Yet, others purposefully bounce back as the sun rises higher and warms their faces.  They once again display their resilience as an early spring flower, combating the less than friendly environs of their stage.  They will not be silent nor allow their contribution to this change in season to be easily thwarted.  Once again, they speak hope into the world for those who will pause long enough to notice.

Hope is a message of near constant need for the human condition.  Hope assuages the uglier messages of despair and doom of which our ears and eyes more often partake.  I wonder, as I contemplate this year’s daffodil show in our lawn if daffodils bloom in Ukraine?  I wonder if they adorn the table tops and bedsides of those who’ve suffered loss, as they often adorn our dining room table?  They are for me a symbol of the need and possibility of persistent hope in the human condition.  May their message be seen and heard with regularity!

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February 22, 2023 · 9:18 am

An Exodus Metaphor

The Exodus is a primary historical and formative event of the Old Testament and thereby for the people to and with whom that collection of books was written. One could argue that the Exodus was the crucible through which the Hebrew people passed enroute to becoming the nation of Israel. It marked their passage from slaves in Egyptian bondage to becoming a free self-ruled people in the Promised Land. It was a formative period through which other future experiences would be seen, weighed and evaluated.

When reading the Exodus story one finds it was far from a linear experience. In fact the forty years of wandering, which God required of the Hebrew people, was much more of a meandering or looping trail than anything resembling a strait line between two points. This is true not only geographically but also spiritually. Much happened in those years of wilderness existence. They were formative years, meaning that they helped shape the people into a new identity. Many a preacher has commented that it was easier for God to get the Hebrews out of Egypt, than to get Egypt out of the Hebrews. The people frequently grumbled against Moses and Aaron, and through them to God. They expressed a preference to return to Egypt rather than suffer in the wilderness. The “go back to Egypt” committee was a standing committee in their camp.

Commenting on both this biblical story, and the metaphor it becomes in our own faith formation, author Brian McLaren writes: “Like them (the Hebrews), we must remember that going forward may be difficult, but going back is disastrous.” (McLaren, We Make the Road by Walking: A Year-Long Quest for Spiritual Formation, Reorientation and Activation, Jericho Books, 2014, p.42).

McLaren is inviting his reader to contemplate the exodus experiences of life that have, are, or will contribute to our own spiritual formation. These are crucible wilderness-like events through which we do the work of honing identity once again. They are seldom pleasant experiences, and sometimes – as was the case with Israel – can seem generational in length and endurance. But they need not become final experiences. In other words, one does not have to stay in the wilderness. One can learn from, be shaped by, and emerge from the wilderness with new purpose, understanding and identity. This forward work, as McLaren suggests in the quote, can (likely will) be difficult. Yet it is important work.

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