Good Friday Reflections, Mark 14:66-72

There are several things I don’t like about going to the gym to work out – the effort it takes to get there, the slim and trim young men who make me look bad, and the swimmers in the pool who do laps twice as fast and twice as many as I can. But the number one objection I have to the gym are the mirrors everywhere. They keep showing me this old man looking back at me!!  I think he’s stalking me!

Lent and Good Friday do the same thing if we are brave enough to look in the mirror. 40 days ago many of us got a smudge of ashes on our foreheads and heard those ultimate words of reality “Remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” And now the Good Friday narrative holds poor old bumbling, human Peter up to us as a mirror of ourselves. Peter is the ultimate fallible human being. He is the poster child for St. Paul’s confession in Romans 7:15 where he says, “I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate.”

Denise Gorden shared this picture with the Coffee Talk group a few weeks ago.  This is artist James Tissot’s depiction of what Jesus’ view from the cross on that dark Friday might have looked like.  Last Sunday Rev. Wayne Nicholson reminded us that we often read the Bible to find ourselves in there.  Well this picture is a great example of that.  Who’s there around the cross?  According to John’s Gospel the most faithful and brave ones are up close and personal – three Marys: Jesus’ mother Mary, Mary of Clopas (Mary’s sister-in-law), Mary Magdalene, and John, described as “the beloved disciple.”

Others are there who had cheered Jesus entry into Jerusalem just 5 days earlier – some who have turned against him, maybe out of fear of the Romans, and cried out for Jesus to be crucified instead of the criminal Barabbas.  Others who are rubber-neckers who just want to see what’s going on, and some who are ambivalent and curious who just want to see if Jesus is the real deal and might be rescued by a host of heavenly angels. 

But it’s also important to notice who’s not there – Peter, and most of the other disciples, unless they’re hiding in the back where the Romans or the religious leaders won’t see them.

Do you see yourself there?  What would have brought you to Calvary on that dark Friday?  As the choir just asked us, “Were you there when they crucified my Lord?”            

But regardless who is there at the cross, there’s one thing we know for sure about everyone, they are all fallible human beings.  St. Paul says it plainly in Romans 3:23: “All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.” All means all; no exceptions.  We are all guilty as charged of being fallible human beings, and Peter and the other disciples are the mirrors that remind us, like it or not, that we are among the fallible. We don’t like that role – we want to be heroines or heroes, not examples of fallibility or weakness!

That idea struck me a couple of weeks ago at a meeting of our men’s group called “Men Under Construction,” another way of saying we’re all fallible and God isn’t finished with us yet.  Pastor Roger Gorden, who leads that group, described it this way.  He said, “Peter gets in the way of Jesus.”  Peter gets in the way of Jesus!  Isn’t that what we do when Jesus asks more of us than we can or want to live up to? When Jesus says, “Take up your cross and follow me” or “If you love your family more than me you aren’t worthy of me,” those aren’t great recruiting slogans.

At one point earlier in the Gospel story Peter literally gets in Jesus’ way. When Jesus tries to explain to the disciples that he must go to Jerusalem and be crucified, Peter says, “No way, Lord. We can’t let you do that!” And Jesus has to reprimand Peter and tell him, “Get behind me Satan.” That sounds awful, but it’s not if we remember that Jesus doesn’t need or want fair weather friends, he wants brave followers, and in order to follow someone you have to get – that’s right, behind them.

It’s hard to follow someone if we think we know a short cut or easier way to go, and especially hard when carrying a cross.

“Are Ye Able, said the Master, to be crucified with me?  Yea, the sturdy dreamers answer, to the death we follow Thee.”  All of the Gospels contain the dialogue between Jesus and Peter at the Last Supper where Jesus predicts Peter will deny him, and Peter responds emphatically, “If I must die with you, I will not deny you. And all the disciples said the same.” But when push comes to shove 90% of them aren’t there for Jesus, and Peter says, “No way – not me, I never met the guy.” Not once, but 3 times!

But here’s the deal.  We’re not here to judge or blame Peter and the other disciples for what they did or didn’t do 2000 years ago.  That’s ancient history.  Remember the disciples are in the Gospel narratives as reflections of you and me.  They are there to invite us to ask the really hard questions.  How do we, you and I, deny we even know Jesus today?  When we look in the mirror on the wall what do we see that we try to hide from other people and even from God.  Good luck with that one, by the way!  What sins of omission and commission gnaw at our consciences when we can’t sleep at night?  As Jesus reminds us, we can’t focus on the speck in Peter’s eye when we’ve still got a big old two-by-four in our own.

I identify with Peter because I hate conflict.  I will take a five-mile detour to avoid an argument or awkward situation.  That’s why Jonah is one of my favorite biblical characters.  I can relate.  When God tells Jonah to go preach behind enemy lines in Nineveh Jonah hops the first boat going in the exact opposite direction.  That would be like one of us getting called to go witness to the people in Tehran today!  I’d probably say, “Sorry, God, you’ve got a wrong number.”

OK, let’s consider some more practical, everyday choices we might have to make.  One person standing up for someone who is being bullied may stop the cruelty, and even if it doesn’t both the victim and the protector feel the priceless solidarity of friendship. One or two men refusing to laugh at a sexiest or racist joke, or a woman saying no to an unethical business practice can empower others to do the same.

Doing what is right but unpopular is one of the hardest things to do because it puts at risk our own comfort and safety. But what each one of us chooses to do or not do does make a difference.

The familiar quote, “The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good people to do nothing” sums up much of what I’m trying to say. As we all know it takes courage to do the right thing when it is so much easier to go along with the crowd. My favorite quote to describe that is from the play about the famous Scopes monkey trial, “Inherit the Wind”: Defense attorney Henry  Drummond says to Bert Cates who is on trial for teaching evolution: “It’s the loneliest feeling in the world to find yourself standing up when everybody else is sitting down.”  [repeat]

And to make matters worse, it’s not just individual actions that matter.  The mirror here is facing you as a congregation because our collective sins are even more important than individual ones.  What’s done in the name of the church, or our government, or any other group we belong to-we bear responsibility for that group’s actions and are called to stand up for what’s right and just and true.  

But – we need to shift gears here.  Lent and Holy Week are times for soul searching, facing the reality of who we see in the mirror.  But the crucifixion and betrayal and denial are not the end of the story and we dare not forget that or we will be overcome with our own guilt and denial. It’s Friday – but Easter’s coming.

Peter denies Jesus 3 times!!! That would be very hard for any of us to forgive!  It’s bad enough if a friend, a best friend, like Peter was, betrays us once, but 3 times?  How could anyone forgive that!  But Jesus isn’t just anyone.  When this same disciple, Peter, asks Jesus earlier in Matthew’s Gospel how many times he should forgive someone who sins against him, as many as 7?  Jesus says no, 70 times 7.  

And of course Jesus practices what he preaches.  He not only forgives those who nailed him to the cross; he also forgives poor old Peter.  I don’t want to steal the thunder of any Easter sermons, but you already know this; so I don’t think it’s a spoiler alert. Remember it is Peter who is the one Jesus designates as the Rock upon which he will build his church! Peter, the denier, the stumbling block – Peter who is the stand in for us in the Good Friday story, the reflection of our own faithlessness.  Yes, that Peter is ultimately the redeemed and forgiven one – just like you and me

Do you remember the line from Snow White – “Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the fairest of them all?”  The wicked queen keeps asking the mirror the same question because she never likes the answer she gets. The mirror keeps telling her the fairest is Snow White.  Likewise we often don’t like what we see when we honestly examine our lives in a spiritual mirror. 

Mirrors don’t lie.  So Peter’s multiple failures on Good Friday can be an important time of growth on our faith journey if we are brave enough to really see ourselves reflected in Peter.  And here’s the good news –we can look in the mirror and see only our faults and shortcomings, our fallibility, our mortality – OR we can look deeper and also see the very one Jesus is counting on to build the kingdom. 

Why does God choose the likes of us to build the kingdom? Because fallible human beings are all Jesus has to work with.  So tonight and tomorrow we mourn our own guilt and responsibility for denying Jesus, but on Sunday we will rise with him to begin anew the absolutely critical work of following Jesus to the cross.   We can do that because when we get behind and follow a risen Savior our faith is stronger than our fear. 

Please pray with me:

Dear Creator and Sustainer of all that is good, just, and true, we are living in very sad times. The foolishness of war is robbing your neediest children of food and health care here at home and raining terror and destruction on the Middle East. You have called us to love our neighbors and our enemies. You have taught us that a few courageous people can make a difference. Give us courage to stand up when no one else can or will. Renew a right spirit within us. Show us how we can most faithfully be among those who refuse to deny you. Keep us near the cross and the one who died there for the Peter in all of us. Amen

Northwest United Methodist Church, April 3, 2026

Temptation: Fall or Faith?

The lectionary texts for the first Sunday in Lent this year include Genesis 3:1-7 (“The Fall”) and Matthew 4:1-11(the Temptation of Christ). What a perfect contrast these two Scriptures give us of human frailty and divine strength. In the former Eve and Adam fall like a ton of bricks for a couple of lies from a talking snake! And in the latter the New Testament version of the serpent promises Jesus food (after a 40-day fast!), divine glory and protection (for bungee jumping off the temple without a bungee), and worldly power (over all the kingdoms of the world, including Greenland and Venezuela).

And Jesus, with impeccable theology, politely tells Satan to go fly a kite all three times. And, of course, Peter reprises human frailty again at the end of this drama by denying Jesus three times. Adam, Eve, and Peter all are marked with the Ash Wednesday reminder that we are all dust, and to dust we will return. But Jesus is the Way, Truth, and Life.

These stories remind me of my need again this Lent to examine and resist by own human weaknesses; to be a little less fearful and self-centered, and more faithful to the sacred burden I carry as one created in the image of God. “I believe, Lord. Help my unbelief.” (Mark 9:24)

Nadia Bolz-Weber has shared in her Substack that she is going to observe Lent this year by looking for and recording 40 days of good “stuff,” which if you know Nadia you know she describes that exercise more graphically! As a glass-half-empty kind of person I need all the help with gratitude I can get, especially in these days of doom-scrolling doldrums. So I have decided to launch my own discipline of being aware of at least one good or beautiful thing each day of Lent.

My good stuff for today was seeing a beautiful red headed woodpecker at our bird feeder. The big red head is a gorgeous bird, and I feel especially blessed that we see one fairly regularly at our house. The habitat for the big woodpeckers is being destroyed by urban sprawl, but at least for now we still have enough wooded land around us that the developers haven’t snarfed up that we get to enjoy this one I call Woody. The bad news is he/she doesn’t stay at our feeder very long; so I wasn’t able to get a picture today.

I googled the Red Headed Woodpecker today just for fun and was rewarded with some great Lenten news. What I found is that for some indigenous people the RHW represents the spiritual values of determination, strength, and perseverance. Those seem like exactly the values lacking in the Genesis 3 story which are on full display in Jesus’ replies to Satan in the wilderness.

Humans in paradise still aren’t satisfied with all the blessings they have and are greedy for more. But the Son of God, starving in the wilderness, knows that faith alone is enough to get us through any and all trials and tribulations life throws at us.

Transfiguration: Surrender, Let It Go

As church tradition dictates our excellent sermon today by Pastor Mebane McMahon on this last Sunday before Lent was based on the Transfiguration story in Luke 9.  My takeaway today after hearing this text from one of the synoptic Gospels annually for at least 57 years was the need to surrender my great desire to cling to glory and homestead on the mountaintop. 

We all need special moments of spiritual inspiration more than ever these days, but Jesus followers can’t stay on the mountain top.  Jesus sets his face toward Jerusalem, straight back into the valley of the shadow of death, and yes, he says, “deny yourself, take up your cross and follow me!”

Of all the hard things I wish Jesus hadn’t said, that’s one of the toughest for sure.  For me right now as I prepare to enter my 80th season of Lent, one of the hardest things for me to surrender is my overwhelming desire to go back – back to a time when I could carry a bundle of shingles up a ladder onto a roof.  Or back to a time when I could run 5 miles in under 40 minutes, or even just walk out to my mailbox without pain.  Every time I see a recent picture of myself unable to stand up straight I want to give up all photo ops for Lent.

I’ve never been a great athlete, but I have enjoyed participating in a good variety of sports over the years. I know it can’t happen, but I would sure love to soak in the view one more time before skiing down from the top of Peak 9 at Breckenridge in Colorado, or enjoy the fellowship of playing one more game with my old church softball team, or a rousing game of basketball with my son. Those memories are wonderful, but they will never replace actually being there. So I don’t want to accept those days are no more.

Diana and I had the pleasure of attending a wonderful high school performance of the Broadway musical version of “Frozen” yesterday in which our great niece Ava Tobin starred as Elsa. The whole performance was amazing, but Ava’s powerful rendition of the song “Let It Go” moved me the most. And it tied in beautifully with the Transfiguration story’s message to let go of the glory of the mountain top and follow Jesus into the valley of Lent.

One of the lines in “Let It Go” says “the past is past,” and that is part of surrendering for me. I’m not the 40 year-old runner or skier or softball player I was 40 years ago. That past is past, and I need to let it go so I can live fully in the present reality of my 79 year-old body.

There’s a breath prayer I learned a few months ago that I’ve been wrestling with ever since. It says, “Show me who to be, and what is mine to do.” I keep meditating on that, but what I’ve heard so far as I pray that prayer is this: I am to be the best Jesus follower I can be, and what that looks like changes with the seasons of life.

I can’t preach much anymore or teach classes. I don’t have the stamina to do that. I can’t go to protests and marches because I can’t stand or walk for any length of time. But I can still read and learn and share my ideas and insights through my writing.

When I get depressed about all the things I can’t do anymore I have no energy to do the things I can still do; so I need to let the past be past and let it go.

I am reluctant to share this as I don’t want to boast, but I got a notification recently from Word Press, the site that hosts my blog, that since I launched this blog in 2011 there have been 100,000 views of my posts. I am humbled by that number and by the fact that those views have come from dozens of countries on 6 continents. 

I have no idea how those 100K readers have responded to anything I’ve written except for few comments I’ve gotten over the years.  My hope is that it’s like the parable of the sower. We scatter our seeds and never know where or how the seeds grow.

That’s true of teaching, preaching, ministry, and just life. We don’t know what influence our words and actions have on others. All we can do is speak and live our truth to the best of our ability because it is right thing to do and trust God to do the rest. That’s surrender!!! 

Let it go! The past is past.  Forgive recklessly, including oneself.  Love foolishly, including oneself, and walk humbly seeking no glory or riches – just integrity.  

OMG: Good Friday Sermon, 2025

OMG – a common abbreviation used these days on social media and many users don’t know it, but it’s really a prayer, a lament.  It means “O My God,” and in our Good Friday context the emphasis is on the little word “My.”  Because even when we doubt and feel God is absent, we still own and affirm the relationship. My kids are still My kids even when they do stupid stuff I don’t agree with – same with friends, spouse, and colleagues.  Real relationships and friendships have no expiration date, and certainly there is none with the eternal God of all creation who has been with us since the day we were born and will be with us for all eternity after our short sojourn on this earth is over.  

Another common lament today is “Life sucks and then you die!”  That one is not in the Bible, but it could be in the book of Lamentations. When Jesus says from the cross, “My God My God why?”  Hear the My and not just the forsaken.  And of course the lament of Psalm 22 is followed immediately in our Bible by the most familiar Psalm of the whole 150.   Psalm 23 begins with “The Lord is MY shepherd.”

As we remember the brutal crucifixion of Jesus tonight I invite you to make that experience real.  Feel it in your gut.  Imagine or remember a time when you were in unbearable pain – either physical or emotional, and Jesus was certainly in both – a time when God feels as far away as the planet Pluto – at the death bed of someone you don’t think you can live without – when you hear a terminal diagnosis from a doctor – or your heartbreaks over a shattered relationship, or a job loss, or your financial security disappearing, or hearing on the news about unspeakable human cruelty.

Holocaust survivor Elie Wiesel in his book “Night” relates an incident when he was a prisoner in a Nazi concentration camp when a young man was hung and all the other prisoners forced to watch.  Someone asks Wiesel, “Where is your God?” and his answer is, “Right there on the gallows.” Whatever and whenever we suffer God suffers right along with us.

One of my favorite descriptions about human lament is the one Brian and Barbara just sang for us, “Day is Done,” by Peter, Paul, and Mary.  I asked for that song because of these lyrics which say, “Tell me why you’re crying my son; I know you’re frightened like everyone. Is it the thunder in the distance you fear? Will it help if I stay very near – I am here.” And if you take my hand my son, all will be well when the day is done.”

We really want to believe that “all will be well when the day is done,” but we don’t know how long that metaphorical day will last or if we can last that long. But what we do know is that it helps to have someone very near.  It helps to be able to share out loud what our pain is with someone we trust and know will listen and just be present as long as we need them. 

I just learned about a quote from Fred Rogers recently in our Books to Bridges book group.  Mr. Rogers said, “What is mentionable is manageable.” “What is mentionable is manageable.”

Pain that we try to carry alone can suck the very life out of us, but if we can talk about it the power it has over us is shared and diminished – it becomes manageable.

Another lament in Psalm 13 begins with these plaintive words: “How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever?   How long will you hide your face from me? How long must I bear pain in my soul and have sorrow in my heart all day long?”   The point in sharing these cries for help is not to depress us but simply that it’s OK to lament, to doubt; those feelings are part of the human condition. No matter how strong your faith is it is hard when the foundations of your existence are shaken like an 8.0 earthquake.  Even Jesus who had more faith than all of us put together cries out “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?” which is even more powerful in the Aramaic that Jesus would have spoken: “Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani?”    

And as you heard in our scripture from Psalm 22 tonight we know where Jesus got those words.  Jesus knew his Scriptures very well, and he knew his people for centuries had been no strangers to devastating loss.  They were experts at lament.  We even have a whole book called Lamentations in the Hebrew Scriptures, which is our Old Testament, devoted to nothing but laments.  And part of the prophet Isaiah’s description of God’s Messiah is that he is a suffering servant who “… was despised and rejected by others; a man of suffering and acquainted with grief.”

Ps 22 is typical of another source of laments the Hebrew people used in public worship. Do you know that there are more psalms of lament in the book of Psalms than any other type of Psalm? One of my favorites when I’m having a no good, terrible, awful day is Psalm 130.  It’s called “De Profundis” in Latin and says, “Out of the depths I cry to you, O Lord.  Lord, hear my voice! Let your ears be attentive to the voice of my supplications!”  Out of the depths loosely translated means “we are in deep do do.”

Psalm 63:1 echoes the same song: “O God, You are MY God; early will I seek you; my soul thirsts for You; my flesh longs for you in a dry and thirsty land where there is no water.” I’ll bet most of us have been in such a dry and thirsty land or may even be there right now.  That’s the message of Good Friday.  I still remember vividly one such time in my youth.  It was my Boy Scout Order of the Arrow initiation.  I was maybe 13. I was led out along with my fellow scouts in total silence and darkness until I was tapped on the shoulder and told to stop and sleep right there, left alone in a strange, dark woods overnight with only a sleeping bag. I had no idea if anyone else was close by or where I was. It was the most alone I had ever been at that stage of my life

Kate Bowler, one of my go to devotional sources, wrote this blessing two years ago in 2023, but it is even more relevant today and is part of her Lenten devotions for 2025. 

It’s called “A Blessing for when you need a little hope.”  “These days feel heavy and dark, like hope packed up and left, and forgot to send a postcard. We cry: Where are the good things? And honestly, where are the good people— the sensible ones fighting for what matters? Why does it feel like bad stuff always elbows its way to the front, pushing everything good to the sidelines? We’re tired. Exhausted, really. Desperation is knocking, and it’s tempting to surrender. Blessed are you, who see the world as it is: the sickness and loneliness, the injustice that never seems to end, the greed and misuse of power, the violence and intimidation, the mockery of truth, and disdain for weakness, and worse— the seeming powerlessness of anyone trying to stop it. Blessed are you, worn down by hard-earned cynicism, running on fumes, with no promise of a destination. Maybe hope isn’t so distant. Maybe it’s there—small, persistent, and stubborn. May you grasp something in the heaviness. A glimmer of what could be, and walk, step by step, toward the possibility that goodness exists. Hope is an anchor dropped into the future pulling you forward, toward something better— even if it doesn’t feel like it right now.”

Yes, my friends, there is always hope somewhere.  Even “O My God, My God” still claims God as ours.

 This Good Friday feels more real to me because we are living in a time of great uncertainty in our country and our world.  No matter what your politics you know these are unsettling times.  But we aren’t the first to feel this way.  The women at the foot of the cross and the other disciples hiding out somewhere had no idea what their future held – and neither do we.  I invite you to put yourself in the crucifixion story – pretend we don’t know what happens on Sunday morning, and enter fully into the forsakenness of that moment with Jesus and his followers and friends.   

What do we do when life seems hopeless, empty, dark, alien, and full of fear and uncertainty?  Like Jesus we can call out “O My God, help us!” and God will answer.  Maybe not immediately; we may have to go through a long Saturday of uncertainty, as long as that Saturday lasts, but there will be an answer because God does not forsake us, just as God did not forsake Jesus.

Even here in the darkness we remember that God so loved the world that God sent Jesus to love and save us. When all else fails it is that love that is eternal.  God so loved the world, and as author Sarah Bessey says, we are called to love that world too and everyone in it, even, Sarah says, knowing that it will break our hearts – knowing it will break our hearts.  To love means risking, being vulnerable, feeling pain — but a broken heart is so much better than not having a heart at all. 

Good Friday 2025, Northwest UMC, Columbus, OH

Squads of Love

The following words of wisdom hit me today right where I needed them. I had another morning when I struggled to get out of bed because I didn’t want to face another day of the awful mess our world is in. And this message by one of my favorite spiritual guides quoting another of my favorites helped me face the day.

Father Richard Rohr shared this insight in his daily meditation from the Center for Action and Contemplation:

Religion scholar Diana Butler Bass ponders the crowd’s outrage after Jesus’ first sermon in Nazareth (Luke 4:18–30)—and the courage required to resist it:  

A preacher gets up, quotes scripture, and reminds the gathered congregation that God loves the outcast—those in fear for their lives—the poor, prisoners, the disabled, and the oppressed. 

In response, an outraged mob tries to kill the preacher…. 

Jesus spoke directly to the congregation saying that God loved widows and those stricken with leprosy—implying that his neighbors had not treated widows and lepers justly. They praised God’s words about justice but were not acting on God’s command to enact mercy toward outcasts. 

That’s when they “all” got angry and turned into a mob. At least, the majority of them didn’t want to hear this. They flew into a rage. 

When they heard this, all in the synagogue were filled with rage. They got up, drove him out of the town, and led him to the brow of the hill on which their town was built, so that they might hurl him off the cliff. But he passed through the midst of them and went on his way. [Luke 4:28–30] 

… What do you do when the mob turns ugly? When widows and lepers, when LGBTQ people and immigrants, are afraid and treated cruelly—and when a brave prophet calls out the self-righteous? What do you do when there’s a lynch mob or a cross-burning? 

I suspect the unnamed heroes of this story stepped outside of the “all,” not willing to be part of the totality, and made a way for the intended victim to pass safely. Did they spot one another in the angry throng? A furtive glance, seeing another hesitant face across the room? Maybe they moved toward one another, hoping to keep each other safe. Did a few others notice the two and the small band then began to multiply? The “all” was furious; the few didn’t understand how it had come to this. 

It was frightening for them; it must have been hard to go against their family, friends, and neighbors. As they followed the mob to the bluff, they must have worried that if they spoke up they could be thrown off, too. But instead of submitting to the tyranny of the “all,” maybe they formed a little alternative community in solidarity with each other. When Jesus was herded to the cliff, perhaps it was they who saw an opening—made an opening—and helped him escape. He passed through the midst of them and went on his way. 

That is, indeed, a miracle. The bystanders find the courage to do something. 

If Jesus needed that, so do we…. We must form squads of love and make a path through together … no matter how fearsome the mob. 

And that’s the overlooked miracle of Luke 4: Only a community—even one that goes unnoticed in the crowd—the band that refuses to join the rabble—can keep us from going completely over the edge.

Lent: Fourth Sunday Prayer

O God of eternal love, we are here again needing your amazing grace.  We’re half way through our Lenten journey, and to be honest some of us have lost our way.  The distractions of life keep pulling us off track.  There are taxes to do, gardens to prepare, and our houses, offices, and even our lives need a good spring cleaning. 

Spring break isn’t long enough, and quite frankly we often come back from vacations more tired than when we left. Those school assignments or work deadlines are still lurking on our lap tops and in the back of our minds.  Instead of focusing on what you would have us do for others we get turned in on our own fears and doubts about the future—concerns about our own health or the well-being of our loved ones. 

Gracious Holy One, we know you have told us over and over again to put our trust in you and not in things that thieves or natural disasters can take from us.  But we still have to buy expensive food and watch our retirement accounts shrivel up.  Those fears are real, God.  And they make it hard to trust in the future. 

So we’re here seeking hope and assurance.  We need forgiveness for the times we have strayed from the narrow path that leads to salvation and for the times when we self-righteously look down our noses at others who are just as lost as we are.  Speak to us again your words of grace that tell us and show us that we can never wander so far that you can’t find us, for you are with us and your spirit is right within our hearts.

Remind us once more, O Holy One, that you are not the judgmental, angry God many of us grew up learning about, but you are the Good Shepherd, the mother hen, the eagle parents nurturing their young. You love us unconditionally forever.  There’s no fine print, no preexisting conditions in the new covenant we have with you that was signed and sealed in Jesus’ own blood on Calvary’s cross.

So with grateful hearts we the people of your kindom reaffirm our trust and offer again the prayer Christ taught us to pray …

Eternal Love: A Journey Through Lent

I was not in the mood for Lent this year. With everything going on in the world and my own ever-nearing 80th birthday in just 19 months the last thing I wanted to hear was “You are dust, and to dust you shall return.” I already felt lost in the wilderness and didn’t think I needed to add any more of lostness to my weary soul.

But even good habits die hard and this annual tradition kept nagging at me; so my wife and I decided to attend our church’s Ash Wednesday service on line, and I’m very glad we did. On-line worship is not usually the best way to worship for me, but I am grateful for that option when I need it. The service at Northwest UMC on Ash Wednesday was an exception to the rule for both Diana and me. It was a very well done service that was contemplative, and being at our kitchen table with only candle light to illumine the room was ideal for that particular kind of worship.

Our church had provided packets for the service that included ashes and a small piece of clay. At one point in the service, after hearing the traditional Scriptures for Ash Wednesday read, we were asked to take the clay and form it into something symbolic that would have meaning for us during the 40 day journey of Lent.

We were give time to pray about that assignment while soft guitar music played. Thanks to the wisdom of several authors I’ve been reading in the chaotic days since January 20 (Richard Rohr, Kate Bowler, Diana Butler Bass, Nadia Bolz-Weber, Brian McLaren, and Sarah Bessey) my mind was led to think about the one constant and trustworthy thing in any time of crisis, namely God’s eternal love.

So I formed my clay into the symbol for infinity which always looks like an 8 lying down to me. Then as I had time to ponder that a little longer it came to me that what I was thinking and feeling was not just a mysterious concept of never-ending infinity or even in Buzz Lightyear’s famous quote “To infinity and Beyond.”

What I was trying to capture in clay was something quite tangible and real – Love. I’ve felt that love more powerfully than ever before through my family and friends who rallied around me during my health crises in the last 8 months. I discovered that my village is a lot bigger and deeper than I realized before. The ministry of presence took on a more beautiful meaning for me in the physical and spiritual companionship that surrounded me and got me through a wilderness journey of my own.

So I decided to shape one end of my clay infinity symbol into a heart (pictured above), and it is still sitting on the kitchen table to remind me several times a day that St. Paul got it right in I Corinthians 13:7-10 when he wrote: ” Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends. But as for prophecies, they will come to an end; as for tongues, they will cease; as for knowledge, it will come to an end. For we know only in part, and we prophesy only in part, but when the complete comes, the partial will come to an end.”

That worship experience was a much needed reminder for me of that eternal love which is the constant, solid ground under our feet even when the foundations of everything we thought we could trust are shaking like an earthquake, to borrow a phrase from the great theologian Paul Tillich. The Ash Wednesday service I didn’t think I wanted helped me to surrender a lot of the anger and frustration I’ve been dealing with about our current political crisis, and I am very grateful.

Today I put that picture of my clay symbol on my watch and phone as wallpaper to be an even more frequent reminder for me the power of eternal love.

A funny thing happened after that Ash Wednesday service. When my wife Diana looked at my art work she said, “I like your fish.” After I explained to her what I intended my symbol to be I realized that the fish is also a great symbol for eternal love. I was also reminded that art is also mysterious and can mean different things to different people at different times.

The fish symbol has been a Christian symbol for 2000 years because the early Christians used it as a secret code to identify themselves as Jesus followers to one another in a way that they hoped would not be recognized by their Roman persecutors. The origin of the symbol came from the Greek word for fish, Ichthus. It was and still is used because the letters of the word ichthus are the first letters of the Greek phrase “Iēsous Christos theou hy ios sōtēr”, which translates to “Jesus Christ Son of God Savior”. 

So whether I see a fish or an infinity symbol when I see this piece of clay doesn’t matter. They both speak to me of God’s eternal love that will sustain me through these 40 days of Lent and through whatever the future holds until I return to dust and beyond. I hope it might do the same for you.

Into Your Hands

I am one of the narrators for our church’s Good Friday cantata, “The Shadow of the Cross.” At the conclusion of the cantata each narrator will share one of Jesus’ last words from the cross. My line is “Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.” This opportunity has forced me to think about how to interpret those words.

Were they uttered in exasperation? “I give up God. You’ll have to take it from here!” Or maybe just a plea for help? Another way of expressing a feeling of abandonment or defeat, even anger? Luke 23:46, the only Gospel that contains this particular phrase, prefaces the words with “Jesus cried out with a loud voice,” which might support that kind of interpretation.

But Psalm 31:5, a source Jesus could have drawn upon, says, “Into your hand I commit my spirit; you have redeemed me, O Lord, faithful God.” That context seems to support what feels right to me. I believe this phrase expresses a surrendering and acceptance of death in all its forms to a mysterious power that makes all things new. They are uttered in the sure and certain belief in resurrection.

For Luke that is all there is to say, and he adds: “Having said this, he breathed his last.” For Luke this is the last of Jesus’ last words. That’s a great exit line, but how do average folks like us truly believe and trust that mystery? As one feeling much too close to the daunting age of 80 that question has taken on more and more significance for me.

Delivering these important words from the cross reminds me of the characters in Nikos Kazantzakis’ novel, “The Greek Passion,” where people in a Greek village take on the various roles in the story of Christ’s passion and so identify with their characters that they become them. The man portraying Judas is driven out of town for his betrayal of Jesus, and the man portraying Jesus, offers himself as a sacrificial lamb, confessing to a murder he didn’t commit to save others from being executed.

Obviously my one liner is not nearly as intense, but it feels like it can still be powerful and transforming for me and maybe others if the Holy Spirit works through me. It is always a heavy responsibility to speak hope into darkness, and God knows things are plenty dark just now, even days before the solar eclipse passes through our state. 

Help me Holy One.  I believe; help my unbelief.

Lent/Holy Week Video: Anointed

Our church, Northwest UMC in Columbus, Ohio, is doing a series of worship services and sermons on the events in Jesus’ last week in Jerusalem. For each Sunday in Lent our talented music director, Brian Luke, has recorded a short video of what each event might look like through the eyes of a contemporary character in the story.

For the fourth Sunday in Lent the text was the anointing of Jesus at Bethany in the Gospel according to Matthew. I was asked to portray a witness to the anointing who is being questioned by the authorities about what had transpired. A version of this event appears in all four Gospels, and here is Matthew’s account.

“Now while Jesus was at Bethany in the house of Simon the leper, a woman came to him with an alabaster jar of very costly ointment, and she poured it on his head as he sat at the table. But when the disciples saw it, they were angry and said, “Why this waste? For this ointment could have been sold for a large sum and the money given to the poor.” But Jesus, aware of this, said to them, “Why do you trouble the woman? She has performed a good service for me. For you always have the poor with you, but you will not always have me. By pouring this ointment on my body she has prepared me for burial. Truly I tell you, wherever this good news is proclaimed in the whole world, what she has done will be told in remembrance of her.” Matthew 26:6-13 (NRSV)

The link below will take you to the video:

drive.google.com/file/d/1ayIosZ7iMVaeXwPipeyKjrybF1e4aa87/view

Baring All Before God

Kate Bowler’s Lenten meditation for today triggered a memory for me from nearly 70 years ago.  In her book, “Have a Beautiful Terrible Day,” Kate’s meditation for Monday of Lent Week Four is titled “letting yourself be known.”  She paints a wonderful contrast between fearing a God who judges our faults and one who knows all about us and loves us as we are.

She closes with this reflection prompt:  “We can have a very Elf on the Shelf view of God at times.  THERE IS GOD WATCHING YOU. Shudder.  What image of God seeing you and caring about you could you find comforting?”

A long-forgotten memory immediately popped into my head as soon as I read those words.  When I was young my maternal grandparents lived on a farm that had no indoor plumbing.  When I visited them I thought nothing of using their two-holer outhouse.  It was just the way they lived.  

I especially enjoyed visiting there because the 7th of my grandparents’ children, Gary, aka Butch, was only 4 years older than I. He was more like a cousin than an uncle to me and just enough older that I admired his greater knowledge of worldly things. Farm kids have a much earlier and healthier grasp of how life and death work than we city slickers did.

So here’s my memory.  One day uncle Butch and I were using the outhouse.  I’m guessing I was 9 or 10 and he was 13 or 14 at the time.  We were at that curious age where sex was often a topic of conversation.  I don’t remember any details of our conversation, much of which I later learned was misinformed.  But I have a vivid memory that for some reason we decided to take off all our clothes and run around the back yard naked.

Had we done that at my house I think my parents would have had a heart attack.  But my dear grandmother who had raised five boys and two girls simply watched us from the kitchen window and laughed.  

Isn’t that a great image of a God from whom nothing is hidden, who sees us in all our human frailty and fallibility and laughs