Jesus gave his life. God gave his Son.
The Christian, Triune God does not take lives, or take away loved ones. Death is not God taking someone, death is a problem we humans, in our sin, have made for ourselves.
God–Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, is in the resurrection business, not the death business. God makes life out of death.
On Monday, I was driving toward downtown midday. Traffic was slow as the four-lane road came to a major intersection; knowing I could turn right (and maybe avoid a bit of the bottleneck?) at the next intersection, I swiftly flicked on my signal, checked for cars in the next lane, and moved to the outside lane (it should be said, it was sunny, the sunroof was open, and i was listening to country music–Monday is my day off, so imagine it says “on Saturday…” not “Monday”).
Suddenly: HHOOONNNKKKK!!!!! A very loud, very very long car horn was clearly very angry that I’d changed lanes in almost-stopped traffic.
Much more disappointed (that I’d finally “met” a mean person in South Carolina–I’d begun to think they didn’t let unkind people in at the border) than mad, I cast a glance to my left when I turned right at the intersection (as much to make sure there wasn’t any traffic as to see who’d honked so angrily), and a mom (or, a woman with a full child’s seat in the back of the car), holding a half-eaten apple gestured at me with her free finger, glaring.
My eyes went wide, but my shock was less over her reaction, which was bewildering enough!, and more over what her apparent anger had done to her face. Her contorted visage was just plain ugly (not to say by any means that I imagine she was ugly when smiling, or generally!). (Unrighteous) Anger makes a person ugly.
Over the last week, when I feel reaction and frustration and anger bubbling up inside me, I remember this woman’s face; knowing that if I allow the reactive, unrighteous anger to control me, my insides (and my outsides!) will be just as ugly has her face at that moment–and may have even longer-lasting effects.
It’s the third day of VBS here at Trinity Cathedral, and we’re learning today about Jesus, the Light of the World. During our opening gather and worship time this morning, we sang “Walking in the Light of God,” and “Sanctuary;” I had the opportunity to talk with the group (of 200-some!!) about their theme today.
Behind the altar is this window, of Jesus and the little children:
What a powerful image for the VBS participants! Their faces shone in the morning sun that filtered through this window as they sat facing me; we talked about how you can stumble into things in the dark–you can stub your toes on your bed if it’s nighttime in your bedroom, or you can run into a tree if you’re playing in your backyard in the evening. One boy shouted, “Unless you have a flashlight!” (Bingo!!) Jesus is our flashlight–he helps us to see the world better. Jesus’ light helps us to not stub our toes and run into trees throughout life. We can see clearly enough to not hurt others, or to ask forgiveness when we do hurt them. Jesus-as-flashlight allows us to see where we should walk, and which path we shouldn’t take.
The holiest half-hour of my week, when the profundities of God rain down into my head, is when I’m hoping to administer communion to God’s people at the altar rail. This week, a middle-aged woman faltered up to the rail; I could tell, though she didn’t look injured, that it was a feat for her to get herself to the rail – she gladly expended significant effort to come and receive life-giving bread.
I began to pray as I pronounced to each person, “the body of Christ, the bread of Heaven.” I prayed for what these dear, faithful people faced in order to get themselves and their loved ones to Jesus’ altar, to his living Body and Blood.
A sister congregation lost two whole families in a plane crash last weekend; well-publicized – and many more not-well-publicized – court case verdicts came in; someone left a marriage or a home; someone got very bad medical news.
Years ago, friend of mine posted quotation that (in my better moments) I try to keep in mind, “Be gentle with everyone, for you do not know what load they are carrying.”
Our sufferings in this life are many, but our medicine is the same – God’s love through Christ’s broken body.
Over the last two weeks, I’ve heard(/sung) the ancient hymn Veni Creator Spiritus as many times as I’ve heard it throughout my life–it’s been a spirit-filled few weeks (see: holy week). This poem has been used by Christians since the 800’s to pray for the Holy Spirit to be present and come upon those who are gathered. It’s used in the Episcopal church at ordinations, though its text is appropriate for any time one wants to invoke the Holy Spirit (every day, anyone?).
At the weekly Sunday morning breakfast here at the cathedral, someone asked me, “How do you get the Holy Spirit?” I told him, “I think all you can do is pray for it. It will come–probably when you don’t mean for it to show up.” Another person asked, “Why are there so many different Christian churches, like Episcopalian, and all that?” My response was immediately on my tongue, as if inspired, “Because we humans are really bad at listening to the Holy Spirit. We have such trouble being truly sensitive to God’s movement and work, correcting our myopias, and practicing humility with each other that we break apart Christ’s body–the church–again and again and again instead of laying down our pride and committing to unity.”
With that lament, we pray: Come, Holy Spirit… enable with perpetual light the dullness of our blinded sight.
hope of things not seen 