Maundy Thursday

Jesus, knowing that the Father had given all things into his hands, and that he had come from God and was going to God, got up from the table, took off his outer robe, and tied a towel around himself. Then he poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples' feet and to wipe them with the towel that was tied around him. He came to Simon Peter, who said to him, "Lord, are you going to wash my feet?" Jesus answered, "You do not know now what I am doing, but later you will understand." Peter said to him, "You will never wash my feet." Jesus answered, "Unless I wash you, you have no share with me." Simon Peter said to him, "Lord, not my feet only but also my hands and my head!" Jesus said to him, "One who has bathed does not need to wash, except for the feet, but is entirely clean. And you are clean, though not all of you." For he knew who was to betray him; for this reason he said, "Not all of you are clean."
After he had washed their feet, had put on his robe, and had returned to the table, he said to them, "Do you know what I have done to you? You call me Teacher and Lord--and you are right, for that is what I am. So if I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another's feet. For I have set you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you. Very truly, I tell you, servants are not greater than their master, nor are messengers greater than the one who sent them. If you know these things, you are blessed if you do them.--John 13: 3-17

It is interesting that for the evangelist John, the biggest moment at the Passover meal was not the words of Jesus declaring the bread his body and the cup of wine his blood. Instead, it's the washing of the disciples feet, done in a way to make them understand that to lead means to serve... not the self, but others.
Much is made on Maundy Thursday about how, in this moment, Jesus humbled himself and took on the role of a servant. But as I thought about that, it would seem that this is merely an easy "paint by numbers" illustration he is giving them when, in fact, this is hardly the first time he has humbled himself to serve. The first time would be with his birth... as a baby human boy. God, the one whose thoughts are not our thoughts, nor God's ways our ways, became a servant by being born to a young girl and her not-quite-yet husband. His service continued through healing, through feeding, through teaching. This mission was never about Jesus saying, "Look at me!" This service was about "look into their eyes and have compassion and love."
And so, in case they haven't "gotten" it yet, Jesus washes the disciples' feet. And Peter, the eager one, insists on getting a full bath (what did I just say about "getting it"?) But Jesus insists that there's no need to clean the whole body, when its only the feet... which had been trodding about in the dust and dirt of Jerusalem... that needed to be cleaned. This is the city in which Jesus is going to be betrayed. Time to shake the dust off of the feet in the face of such a brutal "welcome".
During this Holy Week, one of our retired priests, Fr. Harry Douglas, has been talking about feet during our Evening Prayer service. As he noted, Mary anointed Jesus' feet. We were invited to consider our own feet, and our attitudes about our feet, and how our feet help us to take a stand. And then to consider that Jesus cleansed the feet of the disciples. Given the task ahead of them in the coming hours, days, weeks... ages... their feet were going to need to be ready to take difficult and important steps for the kingdom of God.
We are into the final hours of Jesus' time among us. In many churches, we are being asked to wait an hour with him. But what about the walk? Will we keep walking with him? Or, to put it another way, will we allow ourselves to accept the guidance from God, so that our feet may walk in the way of peace?

Fruit of the Vine

I was struck this morning in listening to the reading from Mark's gospel when Jesus is instituting the eucharist and says, "I will drink no more of the fruit of the vine, until that day I will drink it new in the kingdom of God."

The reference is to the common cup shared at the Passover meal. And it is a foreshadowing of his death, in which his blood will be poured out for many for the purposes of cleansing us of our sins. And, if you Google the phrase 'fruit of the vine', there's an endless debate over whether what was in the cup was "fermented" or not. Such arguments aside, this is another big moment in the Christian story where Jesus is laying down a new thing, giving a new commandment to love one another as he has loved. And he is giving these instructions during this calm before the impending storm.

Now, in my somewhat sleep deprived state, I started mulling over this idea of the "fruit of the vine". Prior to this moment in Mark's story, Jesus imparted another parable, the one about the vineyard that the landowner entrusted to the tenants, who spend more time killing the slaves sent by the man who planted the vineyard, then actually tending the branches. Having spent enough time listening and learning about this particular parable, I understand the vineyard to be representative of the people of Israel, the chosen ones, who were planted by God to produce fruit, but have been living with these tenants holding the lease contract who kill every messenger that God sends... including God's son.

With that in mind, I considered the "fruit of the vine". Yes, it is wine. Yes, it is representational of Christ's blood. And my early morning musings led me to thinking that this is a metaphor for the harvest of God's people. And that when Jesus finishes the phrase, he talks about drinking it new in the "kingdom of God". "Kingdom of God" meaning when God is recoginized as King, or sovereign.

I think that kind of recognition of God as the centerpoint and the leader of us all (and I do mean ALL) is when we will fully have this world be the kingdom of God "on earth as it is in heaven". And when you look around, do you get the sense that the kingdom has come? I know I don't! I think it's there, I think it's always been there. I think if I do my best to live as one known fully by God, I can get tastes of that kingdom. I just don't think we, as a species, are trusting in that reality. Maybe because it's a little freaky weird or something, to put your trust in this invisible God rather than in something concrete, like money. (Like money's concrete! Ask the people suckered by Bernie Madoff!)

So, where this left me is back to the "fruit of the vine." What fruit is ready for picking from my branch to be made into the wine to be shared with others? Are there some grapes that are wilted and belong in the compost heap instead?

Pesky Psalter

For most of today, I was considering the words of Psalm 139: "Where can I go then from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence?" Lately, I have felt that urge to flee, to find a cave, to set myself away and apart.

Welcome to Holy Week 2010! And the psalmist in 139 makes it clear that there is no place to run to, there is no shelter that will hide me from God... because "My body was not hidden from you while I was being made in secret and woven in the depths of the earth."

But it is Psalm 12, appointed for today, that stopped me... and grabbed my attention:

1 Help me, LORD, for there is no godly one left; *
the faithful have vanished from among us.

2 Everyone speaks falsely with his neighbor; *
with a smooth tongue they speak from a double heart.

3 Oh, that the LORD would cut off all smooth tongues, *
and close the lips that utter proud boasts!

4 Those who say, "With our tongue will we prevail; *
our lips are our own; who is lord over us?"

5 "Because the needy are oppressed,
and the poor cry out in misery, *
I will rise up," says the LORD,
"and give them the help they long for."

6 The words of the LORD are pure words, *
like silver refined from ore
and purified seven times in the fire.

7 O LORD, watch over us *
and save us from this generation for ever.

8 The wicked prowl on every side, *
and that which is worthless is highly prized by everyone.

During Holy Week, it is customary for Episcopal priests to make themselves available to hear private confessions of sin and offer absolution. Not a whole lot of people avail themselves of this opportunity, but I wonder if they would if they studied closely the language of this Psalm.

There is a great deal of deceitful speech out there, made by "smooth tongues" designed to lead people astray. I have worked in places where nobody ever told the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. As a reporter, you are constantly getting fed self-serving lies which you had to sort through, double and triple check, and yet still, you were bound to not get a story completely right because sometimes there was just no way to know for sure what was real.

What this Psalm did for me is make me contemplate the destructive nature of lying and gossiping. "Help me, Lord, for there is no godly one left; the faithful have vanished from among us. Everyone speaks falsely with his neighbor; with a smooth tongue they speak from a double heart."

Put another way: who can I trust, God, when everyone is lying to me?

I definitely see this in some places still within the Church. In some Dioceses, to be gay is a guarantee that you will be seen, barely, and definitely not heard. In fact, I was totally stunned this morning to learn that the Episcopal Diocese of Mississippi is offering a spiritual retreat for LGBT Christians. Mississippi?? Really??? Meanwhile, in other places here in the deep Southern United States, gay people are in congregations; yet a prospective candidate for the priesthood will be told to leave and go somewhere else, even if they have family and connections and a church home that they'd have to give up. Oh, well... that IS the way of the disciples, right? Give it all up to follow God. Gee, perhaps that makes gay people better candidates by making discipleship a literal, and not just a figurative!

"O Lord, watch over us
and save us from this generation for ever."

You Will Always Have the Poor

Mary took a pound of costly perfume made of pure nard, anointed Jesus’ feet, and wiped them* with her hair. The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume. But Judas Iscariot, one of his disciples (the one who was about to betray him), said, ‘Why was this perfume not sold for three hundred denarii* and the money given to the poor?’ (He said this not because he cared about the poor, but because he was a thief; he kept the common purse and used to steal what was put into it.) Jesus said, ‘Leave her alone. She bought it so that she might keep it for the day of my burial. You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me.’--John 12:3-8

The last line of this passage in today's Eucharistic gospel put a lump in my throat when it was read on the Fifth Sunday in Lent. Clearly, since the evangelist didn't record a response from anyone in the room, I may not be alone in this. Perhaps Jesus' audience, too, was left speechless. It's one of those moments when everybody is sitting around drinking and talking and then something shifts the jocularity of the mood, and a statement is made that makes everybody go quiet and just sip their cups.
In this case, it's Mary and her jar of extremely expensive nard, and Judas and his chiding her for "such waste". (For the record, I tend to think the evangelist is cracking pretty hard on Judas in this passage because of John's own personal beef with the Jews in 100 CE). And then Jesus tells him, basically, to shut up. Anointing a body for burial was a custom, and what Jesus was seeing in this act is that Mary "got it" in ways that others simply couldn't or wouldn't.
But then comes the real bombshell: "You will always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me."
How true! How utterly, and completely true! In our own lives today... as much in the days of Jesus... the poor are all around us. And I'm not just talking about those people who don't have two coins to rub together in their pockets; the homeless are a visible population on our streets. But I'm talking about other types of poverty. The poverty that arises from crushed spirits. Those who feel that they must be apart from God because of the finger-wagging Judas types. I'm talking about those impoverished of good will and who lack a sense of community, who live only for themselves. These are the people who think nothing of the consequences of their actions which have the effect of robbing another brother or sister of their piece of fish or slice of bread. Poverty is not purely bad financial straits. It can mean lacking in any way.
And note how Jesus puts this: it's not "but you will not always have me" it's "but you do not always have me." That's active, in the here and now, not on Good Friday. OUCH! What are we to do with that? How often do we go about life 'without' God? Without recognizing God's abundance of love for us? A love so deep that if we really take it to heart, we should be moved to a place of true caring for the state of the world in which we live, and the people with whom we share this fragile earth, our island home? Probably a lot!
But that's what this week, this Holy Week time, is all about. Remaining ever mindful of the integral part Christ has played in the world. May we, like Mother Mary, treasure these things in our hearts as we step toward Friday.

Herod and Pilate

This morning, I was the narrator at our 9am service for the reading of the Passion gospel from Luke. And, I admit, when I got to the line, "That same day Herod and Pilate became friends with each other; before this they had been enemies," I had this picture of the Pope and the Archbishop of Canterbury in my head. I blame Mad Priest, or some of the clever people who correspond with the Mad Priest, for this. It was, by far, the best caption offered for the picture.

Think about it: Herod and Pilate joining in friendship in a common effort to route out the "one" who has been making things a little more difficult for those in the status quo in Jerusalem. Perhaps they shared stories of which insult hurled at Jesus was the most clever, the most cutting.

I don't know what these two men were saying at the moment of this photo. But the warmth of the embrace gave me pause. The leader of the Anglican Communion cupping the hand of the Pope? Ugh! Sure we've tried to reconcile differences that have been there since the 16th century with the Reformation in England. But when the smoke clears, I'm still thankful that I, as an Episcopalian, owe no allegiance to the Pope. And with the rot that is getting exposed with another round of priestly scandal, a rot that goes straight to the Pontiff himself, I'll add a "Hallelujah! I'm an Episcopalian!".

But that ++Rowan would give a warm embrace of the pope as seen in this picture makes me sigh. I mean, I shouldn't be surprised: ++Rowan would rather spout off against the legitimate election of a lesbian to the episcopate in Los Angeles than to face the seriously troubling issues of potential genocide of lesbians and gay men in Uganda. Every week, we pray for the Archbishop of Canterbury. And I do pray for him. Because I believe it is important for me to pray for those who I do NOT agree with... even more so than those with whom I do agree. What is gained by only offering prayers for those who I don't think are in need of a doctor? It's the ones I find difficult that I must ask God to play mediator and advocate as I continue along in my journey.

"That same day, Herod and Pilate became friends with each other..." Indeed!

Preparing for Palm Sunday

I was a little surprised yesterday to receive an email with my assignment as a Eucharistic Minister that contained a caution that I should be ready to read the lessons, prayers, Gospel... and preach a homily. On one level, it was funny. On another it was not. It happens more often than not that somebody doesn't show up, and so I've learned to always be ready.
But a homily? Are you serious?
Especially since tomorrow is Palm Sunday... the Sunday that the Church decides to live a whole week's worth of events in one Sunday service. Why we decided it would be a good idea to do the Liturgy of the Palms... and then the Passion Gospel... beats me. I mean, after all that, what more is there to say?
Well, I'm going to give it a shot.
Let's start with the liturgy of the Palms. We all know that Jesus enters Jerusalem with much fanfare and people singing "All glory laud and honor to thee redeemer King. To whom the lips of children did sweet Hosanas ring." (OK, they weren't really singing that, but you get my point). What we never seem to dive into is that this moment was more than Jesus arriving in Jerusalem. It was probably the first staged protest in our human story. Coming from the west into Jerusalem was the strong arm of the law, known better as Roman Governor Pontius Pilate. Pilate arrived with horses and armies of soldiers. Jesus came from the east with his ragtag group of disciples, riding into town on a little gray donkey. Jesus had captured the hearts and minds of many. Pilate and the Roman Empire would want to crush this "new thing" because they had a good system going with the "old thing." Likewise, the Temple leaders had it good because they were the ones with the best seats in the synagogue, and kept everyone from getting too uppity. So here comes Jesus, entering Jerusalem essentially mocking the arrival of Pilate at the other end of town, and in a not-too-subtle way, challenging who the real authority should be for the people. I proposed last year that instead of us marching around the block at St. John's, we would be better to march ourselves to the Capitol building. Nobody seems to want to take me up on that.
Unfortunately, we can't spend time on this moment of protest because in our Episcopal liturgy we move from that glorious triumphant arrival to nailing Jesus to the cross. And this is only Palm Sunday! There's still a whole five days to go before Good Friday. Oh, well.
It is true that, in life, sometimes euphoria and joy can come to a screeching halt in the blink of an eye. One minute it's a beautiful crisp sunny day in New York City... and within minutes... the sky is filled with the smoke from airplanes that have crashed into a skyscraper. One minute, a teacher-turned-folk-hero in New Hampshire is on her way into outer space, and within seconds, she and the other astronauts are blown to smithereens. Tragedy can strike quickly.
But I don't think that's quite how it happened with Jesus. And I don't think he was so roundly despised by the masses within Jerusalem. Only the very vocal and powerful were the really hateful, egging on the cry of "Crucify him!" Today, we see it in this country with the mob rule mentality of the Tea Party. The insecure, the easily-manipulated, and those who benefit from their ignorance are screaming about the recently passed Health Care legislation. Because letting all of us "others" get health insurance is a threat?! My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?
No, to build the momentum that leads people who might have been indifferent or untouched by Jesus to fall in line with the "Crucify him" screams, we need each day of Holy Week. We need to take the steps, painful as they are, toward that moment when God, in the form of Jesus, gave himself up to death on a cross for the purposes of being that sacrifical lamb for our sins: greed, envy, anger, jealousy, indifference. It is through this mindful process that I believe we arrive at Easter in that breath-taking awe of what all took place in the 72-hours between death and resurrection.
Wherever you are, no matter your tradition, I hope you will take this week to spend some time meditating on what this protestor of the political and social status quo did in that final week. Remember that he did it, in all his humanity, for our sake. And remember that the grace poured forth in that moment is yours to have and to hold forever.

Prayerful Underpinnings

All week long, I've been hearing the words from the collect assigned for the Fifth Sunday in Lent:
O Almighty God, who alone canst order the unruly wills and
affections of sinful men: Grant unto thy people that they may
love the thing which thou commandest, and desire that
which thou dost promise; that so, among the sundry and
manifold changes of the world, our hearts may
surely there be fixed where true joys are to be found; through Jesus
Christ our Lord, who liveth and reigneth with thee and the
Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.
These words stood out for me as the struggle for full equality for the LGBT citizens of my county took another step forward. On Tuesday, our County Commission voted 4-3 to move forward with preparing additional definitions and language for our Human Rights Ordinance to expand it to cover LGBT citizens in employment and housing protection. There was an attempt to put the amendment up for a public vote, a sure-fire way of causing incredible pain and anger. Thankfully, Commissioners Rackleff, Thaell, Akinyemi and Dailey saw through the cynicism of that motion and put the proposal on a course to final adoption in May.

As I listened to the debate and discussion, I was stunned to, once more, hear the equality opponents raise the term "special rights". I thought that argument had gone out of vogue after the 90s, but clearly there is still a belief that it is a "special right" to want to be protected from being fired from a job or denied housing based on my sexual orientation. They also claim this ordinance will hurt business owners. Afterall, the proposal would force businesses with five or more employees to treat all customers and employees equitably. How unfair and unChristian, eh? There will be an attempt to change this requirement to match the state's level of protection (Human Rights Ordinances apply to businessses with 15 or more employees). Trouble is, in Leon County, that would exempt far too many workplaces from complying with the ordinance. According to the state's Agency for Workforce Innovation, Leon County has 2200 businesses with five employees. There are 898 with 15 employees. Seems that when we talk about "small business" in our community, we mean "small", and workers there deserve to be protected.

How this connects back to the collect: without it, I would have felt quite angry and discouraged listening to the trio on the Commission who have hardened their hearts to the realities that face those of us who are an L, G, B or T. But the collect is a quiet reminder of the underpinning of truth for me, and I believe, the world. God alone has the ability to make right our hearts and minds... especially of those with the authority of government. It doesn't happen with great fanfare, or lightening bolts. I'm not looking for plagues, or frogs, to overrun the districts served by Commissioners Proctor, Sauls and Desloge. But I have to put trust that God will continue to make known the command to them, and to us, that our first obligation is to love God. And from that posture of loving God pours out the multi-colored reflections of what actively loving God does. It should make one see God in the eyes of the stranger. It should make one see God in the care of the natural resources. It should make one see that those who are strong must support the weak. Fix your heart on those things, and stick with those principles, and it helps to quell the anger when you hear the words of those with hardened hearts.
Doesn't always work for me. I, too, can forget and find myself getting knocked away from that centeredness on God, which is why I call myself "a work in progress". I just hope I keep progressing! :)