Tuesday of Holy Week (Psalm 71:1-14)

Station 3 of the Stations of the Cross, along the Via Dolorosa in Jerusalem

In you, O Lord, I take refuge;
    let me never be put to shame.
In your righteousness deliver me and rescue me;
    incline your ear to me and save me.
Be to me a rock of refuge,
    a strong fortress to save me,
    for you are my rock and my fortress.

Rescue me, O my God, from the hand of the wicked,
    from the grasp of the unjust and cruel.
For you, O Lord, are my hope,
    my trust, O Lord, from my youth.
From my birth I have leaned upon you,
    my protector since my mother’s womb.
My praise is continually of you.

I have been like a portent to many,
    but you are my strong refuge.
My mouth is filled with your praise
    and with your glory all day long.
Do not cast me off in the time of old age;
    do not forsake me when my strength is spent.
For my enemies speak concerning me,
    and those who watch for my life consult together.
They say, “Pursue and seize that person
    whom God has forsaken,
    for there is no one to deliver.”

O God do not be far from me;
    O my God, make haste to help me!
Let my accusers be put to shame and consumed;
    let those who seek to hurt me
    be covered with scorn and disgrace.
But I will hope continually
    and will praise you yet more and more. (New Revised Standard Version)

Christians take a decided interpretation of seeing Christ in the psalms. For us, we can envision Jesus saying these words of lament in the last days of his earthly life and ministry.

Why lament?

Lament is a significant piece of Lent, and is especially present in these final days of the season, Holy Week. To lament is to offer a public and passionate expression of grief. And it’s not optional but necessary and vital to the Christian experience, not to mention the human condition.

Without lamenting our great losses, our grief comes out sideways, inevitably harming others with our snarky vitriol. Lament gives expression to our deep grief. It enables us to come to grips with what has happened in the past, or happening to us in the present, and within us.

What does it mean to lament?

  • A lament is an expression of personal grief, due to any significant change or loss; it is the normal emotional, spiritual, physical, and relational reaction to that loss.
  • Lamenting is an intentional process of letting go. Relationships, dreams, plans, and people all die. We cannot get them back. Lament helps us find and live into a new identity after the loss or change.
  • Expressing grief through lament is intensely personal; there is no one-size-fits-all. No one else can do our lamentation for us.

How do I lament?

There are many psalms of lament, including our psalm lesson for today. They all have a typical structure to them, including:

  • Addressing God: Crying out for help. Some psalms of lament expand to include a statement of praise or a recollection of God’s intervention in the past. (Psalm 71:1-3)
  • Complaint: Telling God (said with some flavor!) about our problem or experience through a range and depth of emotional, relational, and spiritual reactions to the change or loss. (Psalm 71:4)
  • Confession of Trust: Remaining confident in God despite the circumstances. Beginning to see problems differently. (Psalm 71:5-8)
  • Petition: Proclaiming confidence in God. Appealing to God for deliverance and intervention. Keep in mind that petitioning is not bargaining with God or a refusal to accept loss. Rather, it is a legitimate seeking of help. (Psalm 71:9-13)
  • Words of Assurance: Expressing certainty that the petition will be heard by God. (Psalm 71:14a)
  • Vow of Praise: Vowing to testify in the future to what God will do with praise. (Psalm 71:14b-24)

I encourage and urge you to consider the following spiritual practice in this Holy Week: Set aside some time and craft your own psalm of lament.

Choose an event from your past which created grief for you. It can be recent or from years ago. Using the structure of lament psalms, thoughtfully write out each element as I have outlined it. Then, read it aloud to God. Perhaps even take another step by reading your lament aloud to a trusted family member, friend, or faith leader.

Our grief needs the outlet of lament. Grief which is not expressed ends up sitting heavily in the soul. Eventually, over time, if not acknowledged and spoken aloud, it can easily become putrid and rancid, poisoning our spirit, and compromising our faith.

Sharing your story through lament is biblical, practical, and I insist, necessary. I regularly craft psalms of lament whenever I have events or people who keep sticking with me in my thoughts and in my heart. Here is one example from a few years ago, after a mass shooting in my city:

Lord, in our shock and confusion, we come before you.

In our grief and despair, in the midst of hate,

in our sense of helplessness in the face of violence,

we lean on you. How long, O Lord, must we keep facing this!?

For the families of those who have been killed, we pray.

For the family of the shooter—help us to pray, Lord.

For the communities that have lost members—their anger, grief, fear—we pray.

For the churches striving to be your light in darkness, beyond our comprehension, we pray.

In the face of hatred, may we claim love, Lord.

May we love those far off and those near.

May we love those who are strangers and those who are friends.

May we love those who we agree with and understand,

and even more so, Lord, those who we consider to be our enemies.

Lord, have mercy. Christ, have mercy. Lord, have mercy.

Heal our sin-sick souls, and grant us your peace.

Make these wounds whole, Lord, for you can do it. Amen.

Monday of Holy Week (Psalm 36:5-11)

The Via Dolorosa (Latin: the way of sorrows) is a narrow path through the streets of the Old Jerusalem, the final route traveled by Jesus of Nazareth on the way to his crucifixion.

Your steadfast love, O Lord, extends to the heavens,
    your faithfulness to the clouds.
Your righteousness is like the mighty mountains;
    your judgments are like the great deep;
    you save humans and animals alike, O Lord.

How precious is your steadfast love, O God!
    All people may take refuge in the shadow of your wings.
They feast on the abundance of your house,
    and you give them drink from the river of your delights.
For with you is the fountain of life;
    in your light we see light.

O continue your steadfast love to those who know you
    and your salvation to the upright of heart!
Do not let the foot of the arrogant tread on me
    or the hand of the wicked drive me away. (New Revised Standard Version)

The desert journey is almost over. The sojourn with Jesus in his life and ministry will soon culminate in the ultimate experience of sorrow and joy. The Christian season of Lent is nearly at the end. We are in it’s final days, known as Holy Week.

We have a Holy Week because of love. There is yet another journey we must take, along the Via Dolorosa to the hill of Golgotha, because of God’s steadfast love.

Love suffers. Every parent knows this. Because of a parent’s committed and faithful love toward a child, they feel not only the joys but also the sorrows and pain of their children. I can say that this feeling does not go away, even with adult children. And it’s compounded with grandchildren. Just as our love is big enough to hold multiple children and grandchildren, so our capacity for experiencing deep emotion for their welfare is equally large.

Holy Week reminds us that God’s committed parental love suffers. It is because of God’s immense and steadfast love that there is a road to the cross and a tortured death for Jesus. The cost of our salvation involves a very bloody affair. Deliverance comes at the price of horrible violence. Jesus Christ lived and died for us, because of love.

He suffered much because he loved much.

God’s people, walking in the way of love, quickly discover that it is simultaneously walking in the way of suffering. From Old Testament times through the New Testament era and into the present day, the faithful have always experienced suffering as a central part of their piety and devotion in showing steadfast love. 

The medieval mystics of the Church understood quite well the connection between suffering and love. They could not imagine a Christian life without hardship, difficulty, and persecution. Thomas à Kempis, a sort of pastor to pastors, wrote in the fifteenth century:

“Sometimes it is to our advantage to endure misfortunes and adversities, for they make us enter into our inner selves and acknowledge that we are in a place of exile and that we ought not to rely on anything in this world.  And sometimes it is good for us to suffer contradictions and know that there are those who think ill and badly of us, even though we do our best and act with every good intention….  When men ridicule and belittle us, we should turn to God, who sees our innermost thoughts, and seek His judgment….  It is when a man of good will is distressed, or tempted, or afflicted with evil that he best understands the overwhelming need he has for God, without whom he can do nothing….  It is in such times of trial that he realizes that perfect security and full peace are not to be found in this world.”

Thomas à Kempis, The Imitation of Christ

And yet, it is because of love that suffering is transformed and endured as something wholly other than sheer pain or hurt. Thomas à Kempis went on to say:

“Love is a mighty power, a great and complete good; Love alone lightens every burden and makes the rough places smooth. It bears every hardship as though it were nothing and renders all bitterness sweet and acceptable. The love of Jesus is noble and inspires us to great deeds; it moves us always to desire perfection. Love aspires to high things and is held back by nothing base. Love longs to be free, a stranger to every worldly desire, lest its inner vision become dimmed, and lest worldly self-interest hinder it, or ill-fortune cast it down…. Love knows no limits, but ardently transcends all bounds. Love feels no burden, takes no account of toil, attempts things beyond its strength; love sees nothing as impossible, for it feels able to achieve all things. Love therefore does great things; it is strange and effective; while he who lacks love faints and fails.”

Thomas à Kempis, The Imitation of Christ

Holy Week’s message is certainly one of suffering love. Jesus went to the greatest lengths possible to give Divine steadfast love to humanity. So, let us not shy away from the cross, but journey with Jesus to Golgotha, embracing the love of God for us. In so doing, we will find the inner resources needed to love the world, even in all its unloveliness.

Grant, we pray, almighty God, that, though in our weakness we fail, we may be revived through the Passion of your Only Begotten Son. Who lives and reigns with you in the unity of the Holy Spirit, God, for ever and ever. Amen.

Bored To Death (Acts 20:7-12)

On Sunday we met to break bread. Paul was discussing Scripture with the people. Since he intended to leave the next day, he kept talking until midnight. (Many lamps were lit in the upstairs room where we were meeting.)

A young man named Eutychus was sitting in a window. As Paul was talking on and on, Eutychus was gradually falling asleep. Finally, overcome by sleep, he fell from the third story and was dead when they picked him up. Paul went to him, took him into his arms, and said, “Don’t worry! He’s alive!” Then Eutychus went upstairs again, broke the bread, and ate. Paul talked with the people for a long time, until sunrise, and then left.

The people took the boy home. They were greatly relieved that he was alive. (God’s Word Translation)

I’m bored

When I was a kid, the church worship service on Sunday was the longest hour of my week. I wanted to play in the pew, but my mom wouldn’t let me. I asked to go the bathroom, but my dad wasn’t having it. I tried to draw in the hymnal, but my sister always took everything around me ought of sight. My only relief was to sleep and drool on whatever I could lay my head on.

I’ve come a long way since then. But my experience taught me something. God isn’t boring, so I’m not going to be boring, either. Maybe I could have taught the Apostle Paul a thing or two.

In our New Testament lesson for today, the lateness of the hour (past midnight) and the ambiance of the room (all those burning oil lamps, presumably to keep people awake without any coffee) clues a church-going person immediately that something bad is about to go down. A long-winded preacher only serves to make for a combustible situation.

Uh-oh

In all fairness to Paul, if the congregants were bored out of their minds, the text doesn’t tell us. My guess is that the author, Luke, doesn’t want to go there. Yet, we have evidence of a bored person in the form of none other than a young person, a kid named Eutychus.  

He’s over by the open window, propped up on the ledge, and can’t keep his eyes open. Heck, for all we know, everyone was starting to doze off. And, as every preacher has experienced, as somebody slips into sleep, we just talk even longer.

The young man’s precipitous position leads to disaster: he falls out the third floor window. And, as one might expect, he fell to his death. Now, instead of some slap-stick comedic set up, we have a genuine tragedy: a young person literally bored to death by preaching.

The Apostle Paul raises Eutychus to life, by Gerard Hoet, 1728

All of a sudden, the story is no laughing matter. So, what might we learn from the preacher who bored Eutychus to death?

He finally stops preaching

The sermon is interrupted (as it turns out, of course, only momentarily) in order to attend to the tragedy. Sometimes, the sermon has to stop. Everything has to stop. We have to take a good, hard look at what’s going on. There are questions to ask, things to notice, conversations to begin. We have to get particular about where we are, and what we’re doing, before we can keep going with anything.

Maybe, just maybe, if Eutychus was part of the communion service, he wouldn’t have been on the margins and at risk of falling. As for many churches today, it could be there’s no young people around because they all fell out the window. Never underestimate the power of participation. Most youth just need to be asked to help out. But most adults don’t ask. And most kids aren’t going to volunteer.

He threw himself on him

Paul went down to Eutychus, and bending over him, took him in his arms in an emotional embrace – similar to what the father did when the prodigal son came home. (Luke 15:11-32)

In both cases – the prodigal son and Eutychus – they each needed a new life. The prodigal fell asleep to who he was, in a living death, and woke to his condition and went home. Eutychus literally fell asleep to an actual death and was woke to a resurrected life – returning back to the congregation (and even more preaching! *sheesh* leave it alone, Paul).

Each was found. Each had someone care about them by throwing their arms around them and giving them new life. That’s what grace is. Grace is giving the gift of seeing another person and embracing them – no matter whether they’re worthy of it, or not.

He’s alive

“He’s alive” is a statement of fact, of reality. It puts all the attention on what is true, right now, in this moment – and deflects attention away from who’s around the living person. In other words, Paul doesn’t take credit for Eutychus coming to life or restoring breath to him.

Implicitly, we know where the power comes from to raise Eutychus to life. It doesn’t come from the preacher. However, there is an important task that every preacher can do: witness a new life and bring the announcement of that life to the community. Preaching can (and ought to) bear witness to the activity of God in raising the dead and granting life.

The preacher can encourage the congregation to celebrate life around the Lord’s Table, notice the people on the margins of the community, and stay awake to the possibilities of what God can do amongst us.

Turns out, neither the length of a sermon nor the level of boredom is the issue. What’s most important is proclaming the gospel of grace in word and sacrament. And that’s something we all can participate in together and celebrate.

God of life, may we learn how to live from the mercy which was brought to us through the mission of your Son – whose saving love extends to every person, whose presence reaches into every place, Jesus Christ, who makes all things new, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever. Amen.

What Does God Want? (John 11:1-45)

The Raising of Lazarus, by Rembrandt, c.1632

Now a man named Lazarus was sick. He was from Bethany, the village of Mary and her sister Martha. (This Mary, whose brother Lazarus now lay sick, was the same one who poured perfume on the Lord and wiped his feet with her hair.) So the sisters sent word to Jesus, “Lord, the one you love is sick.”

When he heard this, Jesus said, “This sickness will not end in death. No, it is for God’s glory so that God’s Son may be glorified through it.” Now Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus. So when he heard that Lazarus was sick, he stayed where he was two more days, and then he said to his disciples, “Let us go back to Judea.”

“But Rabbi,” they said, “a short while ago the Jews there tried to stone you, and yet you are going back?”

Jesus answered, “Are there not twelve hours of daylight? Anyone who walks in the daytime will not stumble, for they see by this world’s light. It is when a person walks at night that they stumble, for they have no light.”

After he had said this, he went on to tell them, “Our friend Lazarus has fallen asleep; but I am going there to wake him up.”

His disciples replied, “Lord, if he sleeps, he will get better.” Jesus had been speaking of his death, but his disciples thought he meant natural sleep.

So then he told them plainly, “Lazarus is dead, and for your sake I am glad I was not there, so that you may believe. But let us go to him.”

Then Thomas (also known as Didymus) said to the rest of the disciples, “Let us also go, that we may die with him.”

On his arrival, Jesus found that Lazarus had already been in the tomb for four days. Now Bethany was less than two miles from Jerusalem, and many Jews had come to Martha and Mary to comfort them in the loss of their brother. When Martha heard that Jesus was coming, she went out to meet him, but Mary stayed at home.

“Lord,” Martha said to Jesus, “if you had been here, my brother would not have died. But I know that even now God will give you whatever you ask.”

Jesus said to her, “Your brother will rise again.”

Martha answered, “I know he will rise again in the resurrection at the last day.”

Jesus said to her, “I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even though they die; and whoever lives by believing in me will never die. Do you believe this?”

“Yes, Lord,” she replied, “I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, who is to come into the world.”

After she had said this, she went back and called her sister Mary aside. “The Teacher is here,” she said, “and is asking for you.” When Mary heard this, she got up quickly and went to him. Now Jesus had not yet entered the village, but was still at the place where Martha had met him. When the Jews who had been with Mary in the house, comforting her, noticed how quickly she got up and went out, they followed her, supposing she was going to the tomb to mourn there.

When Mary reached the place where Jesus was and saw him, she fell at his feet and said, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.”

When Jesus saw her weeping, and the Jews who had come along with her also weeping, he was deeply moved in spirit and troubled. “Where have you laid him?” he asked.

“Come and see, Lord,” they replied.

Jesus wept.

Then the Jews said, “See how he loved him!”

But some of them said, “Could not he who opened the eyes of the blind man have kept this man from dying?”

Jesus, once more deeply moved, came to the tomb. It was a cave with a stone laid across the entrance. “Take away the stone,” he said.

“But, Lord,” said Martha, the sister of the dead man, “by this time there is a bad odor, for he has been there four days.”

Then Jesus said, “Did I not tell you that if you believe, you will see the glory of God?”

So they took away the stone. Then Jesus looked up and said, “Father, I thank you that you have heard me. I knew that you always hear me, but I said this for the benefit of the people standing here, that they may believe that you sent me.”

When he had said this, Jesus called in a loud voice, “Lazarus, come out!” The dead man came out, his hands and feet wrapped with strips of linen, and a cloth around his face.

Jesus said to them, “Take off the grave clothes and let him go.”

Therefore many of the Jews who had come to visit Mary, and had seen what Jesus did, believed in him. (New International Version)

The Raising of Lazarus, by Vincent Van Gogh, 1890

Here’s a Captain Obvious observation:

what God wants, and what we want, is not always the same thing. 

Today’s Gospel story centers around a man named Lazarus, the brother of Mary and Martha. The disciples were familiar with them since they were committed followers of Jesus. 

Their friend Lazarus became deathly ill. Christ and the disciples caught wind of it. Everyone believed Jesus could do something about this. But Jesus stayed put. He didn’t make a move to go to his sick friend. 

After a few days, Lazarus died. It was only then, that Jesus made his move.

The religious authorities in Jerusalem had it out for Jesus. But Jesus decided to go to Bethany and Jerusalem anyway. This made no sense to the disciples. Lazarus was lying dead in Bethany. Going there would put everyone at risk – which is why Thomas uttered the defeatist and dramatic statement, “Let us also go, that we may die with him.”

Yet, they all went. And once they arrived, Christ and his disciples found the grieving sisters. Mary and Martha believed that Jesus was the promised Messiah who would come and save the people. They didn’t understand why Jesus stayed away and didn’t come sooner. 

If Jesus had been there, he could have healed Lazarus. He healed other people, so why not a friend and a brother?

The death of Lazarus seemed to be the end. No one was happy with how things shook-out. Lazarus died. The disciples’ plans were dead. Mary and Martha’s expectations died…

but death is exactly what it takes in to have resurrection.

There’s no such thing as a painless miracle. Death isn’t a pleasant affair. I have been with countless people at the end of life, and I will tell you that, although it’s possible for a death to be peaceful, it’s still ugly business. 

It’s also painful to watch carefully laid and prayed over plans die. It hurts to see a long sought after dream just go up in smoke and die. To see anything or anyone we deeply care about die is gut-wrenching. Yet, in order for a resurrection to occur, there must first be a death.

There cannot be a new life unless there’s an old one. 

Jesus did the impossible by raising Lazarus from death and giving him new life. And the resurrection of Lazarus pointed to an even greater truth: Christ’s own death and resurrection was coming, and it will change everything.

Whenever what we want dies, then we are in a position to ask: So, what does God want? 

God wanted something better than what everybody else wanted. By allowing ourselves to be consumed with what God wants, it turns out to be the very best thing for us, even if it does not quite jive with what I want.

Everyone’s expectations needed to die, along with Lazarus, for the resurrection to become reality. Only then did Jesus act by rising Lazarus from death.

Jesus pointed to himself as the one able to bring life to all that is dead among us. Sometimes:

  • dreams must die so that Jesus can resurrect them to new life, with outcomes far more glorious than you and I could ever imagine
  • plans have to be dead and buried before Jesus will breathe new life into them, making those plans so much more than they could ever have been in our hands.
  • ministries, even churches, need to be dead as a doorknob so that Jesus can resurrect them and give them new life, invigorated with spiritual resurrection power.

If we desire to see the miracle of resurrection, we must die to ourselves – take up our crosses and follow Jesus into the grave so that he can transform our lowly expectations into a glorious new existence. Death does not have the last word because Christ’s resurrection makes it possible for us to have new life. Again, I ask:

What does God want? God wants to raise the dead to life.

Do you believe this? Yes, I believe. Help me in my unbelief.

Follow the path of what God wants and watch what the Lord will do for you.