Holy Saturday
In the noisy metal shop, you can’t even hear yourself scream. All the air in the building is filled with sound, so loud, so busy. There are screeching fans blowing gales of fresh air through the building, grinding machines evoking screams from metal being shaved down, the dragon’s roar of an open furnace melting iron. As if it were impossible for anything to be louder, over the top of that the warning horns blast when huge cauldrons of molten metal are swung through the air. Everything in the entire building vibrates with sound until you can feel the noise shaking your innards.

Then, just when you have become inured to it all, one more great screeching horn blast signals the end of the day’s work. In quick succession, all the machines, fans, furnaces, lathes are turned off. Every noisemaker is silenced because the end of work has been reached.

You stand there rebounding against the silence. Suddenly, the silence feels as palpable as the noise had been. It is as if you had been leaning against the hurricane’s force and now it has been quieted you feel the absence. For a few moments, the quiet feels unnatural. What shall we do now with all this emptiness?

After the busy-ness of Lent and the unrelenting pace of Holy Week reaching its heart-breaking climax in Good Friday’s bloody cross, Holy Saturday leaves us in an awkward silence. What now? Jesus had been executed; his followers terrified into hiding. It was as if the whole world went silent, not quite knowing what to do.

In those hours between utter defeat on Friday’s cross and total victory over death at Easter Sunday’s sunrise, where is Jesus?

Into the waiting, the questioning, this one enigmatic verse in 1st Peter (1 Peter 3:19) hinting at those in-between hours and reaffirming for us the nature of God.

The verse suggests that even in death, Jesus is not focused on himself but instead spends those hours preaching to those who have died. Since for these hours before resurrection he is among the dead, he considers it opportunity to proclaim God’s love, to continue the ministries he conducted while alive, offering hope and promise that God’s steadfast love knows no limits, not even the gates of death can silence his message.

Yes. That resonates with me. Yes, this is the Jesus I know. Even death will not silence his message. Even among the dead, Jesus does not abandon his mission to save the entire cosmos and every soul in it.

Not even death removes us from the love of God and the hope we are given through Christ. The Apostle Paul echoed this thought to the Church in Rome:

“I am certain of this, neither death nor life, nothing that exists, nothing still to come, not any power, not any height nor depth, nor any created thing can ever come between us and the love of God” (Romans 8:38-39).

In the silence of Holy Saturday, in the midst of this awkward time of waiting, be assured that God’s love is never silenced. May you find in the silence of pandemic social isolation the quiet space to hear more clearly God’s still speaking voice, whispering your name, proclaiming never-ending love for you, calling you beloved child of God.
Until the sunrise, may you be held in quiet peace while you wait.

John 13:1-17

Today is Maundy Thursday. Most Christians will celebrate the Lord’s Supper, remembering that last communal meal Jesus hosted before his betrayal, arrest, and death by torture. This year, Zion will commemorate this event virtually. You will join us online via Facebook Live Streaming. You will bring your own food and drink, and we will eat together, separately.

Only a tiny fraction of Christians will reenact another event from that night as portrayed in John’s Gospel. That would be when Jesus washed the feet of his disciples. That makes most of us far too uncomfortable.

What Jesus did by washing the feet of his disciples was to demonstrate that leadership is about service, not being served.

Other than the Bible, if there is one book that has guided my learning about leadership, it is “The Servant Leader” by James A. Autry. © 2001, Three Rivers Press. NY. No matter who you are, or what your job is, you can learn from this approach. Autry lays out six things he believes to be core. Leadership, he says:
1. Is not about controlling people, it is about caring for people
2. Is not about being boss; it is about being present for people and building a community
3. Is not about holding on to territory, but about letting go of ego
4. Is less concerned with pep talks and more concerned with creating a space in which people can do good work, find meaning in their work, and bring their spirits to work
5. Is largely a matter of paying attention. Like life.
6. Requires love.

“The Servant Leader” by James A. Autry. You need to read this book alongside John’s Gospel, Chapter 13. See the story of the “Last Supper” evening through this lens. See what kind of leader Jesus was. Be that kind of leader yourself.

I checked just this morning. Your local bookseller can get you this as an eBook for $13.99 today. (here in Burlington, it’s Burlington by the Book: https://www.burlingtonbythebook.com ).

We who call ourselves Christians implicitly claim that we are trying to live our own lives after the example of Jesus. This book can help you do just that. Be that kind of leader: spontaneous, self-effacing, the servant leader.

Forget pointing fingers at people who sin differently than you. Forget about blaming others. If you want to be a true Christian, lay aside your self-obsessed ego, tie the servant’s towel around your waist, get down on your knees, and serve others in the name of the love of God.

Then Satan entered into Judas called Iscariot, who was one of the twelve; he went away and conferred with the chief priests and officers of the temple police about how he might betray him to them. They were greatly pleased and agreed to give him money. So he consented and began to look for an opportunity to betray him to them when no crowd was present. -Luke 22:3-6
While he was still speaking, suddenly a crowd came, and the one called Judas, one of the twelve, was leading them. He approached Jesus to kiss him; but Jesus said to him, “Judas, is it with a kiss that you are betraying the Son of Man?” -Luke 22:47-48
The closest blade renders the deepest cut.
Joke: Why is it that theologians are never, ever lost in the woods, no matter how desolate?

Answer: because all they have to do is express an opinion over the tiniest point of doctrine, and an army of theologians will appear to dispute them.

It was absolutely inevitable that when Jesus began to teach with authority about God and the nature of a faithful life, he would have those who disagreed with him. Some of the disagreements were passionate, based on strongly held personal beliefs. Some of the resistance came from those in power because Jesus threatened their position of privilege.
Arguing over questions of faith is a long-honored tradition within Judaism. It is said that whenever two rabbis are in a room together, there will be three opinions. Debate and dispute are part of the game. You would especially expect resistance and challenge from those who had something to lose. But they are outside the circle; their opposition is not a surprise.

The real pain happens when the betrayal comes from within the inner circle of devotees. These ardent followers who have achieved some status within the group, who have reclined at the same table with Jesus during meals, who have walked alongside Jesus mile after dusty mile, when these dedicated ones become disappointed and discouraged, they fall so much further. As passionately committed as they had been, they become equally passionately hostile when they realize that their expectation and understanding of Jesus was wrong. The closest blade renders the deepest cut.

It happens, doesn’t it? We give our hearts passionately to a cause, a purpose, a lover. We pour in all our energies. Then, if there is a falling out, the fall is spectacular, painful, and often messy. Most of us who have been in Church for a while have seen this happen. A dedicated church member gets hurt, disappointed, feels betrayed. They draw back from involvement in the church; often leaving their home church for a different congregation. The stronger their attachment to the church before the falling out, the harder the fall, the more pain, the more bitter the feelings left in the aftermath. The whole church is damaged; the one who has felt betrayed, and every other member who saw the fall happen and was powerless to do anything to stop it. May God bring healing to every tender soul who has been let down by a fallible church.

I heard about a colleague in ministry who tells people when they join the church that they can EXPECT to be let down once in a while. She tries to vaccinate them against the worst of the pain when their fellow church members and even the pastor turn out to be all too human and fallible. Maybe being forewarned can help mitigate the worst of the damage.

Jesus expected resistance from many angles, especially from the religious leaders, but the deepest cut came from the one who had been closest. Judas, too, came to mourn the decision he had made; only not soon enough to avoid the most grievous of heartbreak.

If you have plans to make prayers today, please include a prayer for those who betrayed you, let you down, deserted you when you needed them most. And don’t forget to add a prayer for yourself, that God might heal your heart for the times when you were the one betraying.

Grace and peace,

Brice

Tuesday of Holy Week

Jesus in the temple is the Holy Disruptor. Entering Jerusalem accompanied by adoring crowds, Jesus makes his way to the Temple where he encounters capitalism gone berserk. His response is disruption of a system taking advantage of those who come to worship God. His criticism is against those who have created a system that milks the poor for profit while rewarding greed and further enriching the wealthy. The temple has become a palace of institutional power. Instead of caring for the vulnerable and the poor as Scripture demands, they have built an institution that preserves privilege for an elite. Instead of curating a house for prayer, the leaders demand to know Jesus’ credentials.

Straight out of Isaiah and Jeremiah, Jesus preaches God’s preferential option for the poor. Jesus turns our focus to the things at the center of God’s attention. God who looks for truth and finds it rare, who seeks out the faithful ones, but finds them to be liars. In Jerusalem for the last time, Jesus weeps for the city at the center of his faith and ours. He weeps for those who turned their backs to God, who embraced ideology and worshiped surface piety but refused to show the love of God for all.

Jesus the disruptive prophet, after the manner of Isaiah and Jeremiah, speaks of blessings for the poor, the vulnerable, the outcast. Jesus the Disruptor resets the focus from external rule-keeping to genuine concern for those who are weaker, disadvantaged, and vulnerable. For these who have been left behind in the scramble for wealth, Jesus promises to turn their shame into praise, and bring healing for those who are broken.

In these most disrupted times, our call is to cling to Jesus the Holy Disruptor, who feeds the hungry, comforts the grieving, retrieves the outcasts, and loves the unlovable. Here we are, answering the call of Christ to love the world, even in the midst of disruption. Our place is here; our time is now to be the face of Christ for everyone who sees us.

I will deal with all your oppressors at that time. And I will save the lame and gather the outcast, and I will change their shame into praise and renown in all the earth. At that time I will bring you home, at the time when I gather you; for I will make you renowned and praised among all the peoples of the earth, when I restore your fortunes before your eyes, says the LORD.

– Zephaniah 3:19-20 (NRSV)

John 12:1-11
A traditional reading for this day is from the Twelfth Chapter of the Gospel of John. Chapter Eleven is the raising of Lazarus from the dead. In the Twelfth Chapter, John says Mary and Martha threw Jesus a dinner party, and that Lazarus was in attendance.
No surprise there. If you were in the sandals of Mary and Martha and someone had resuscitated your brother, you would throw them a party too, wouldn’t you?

The Chief priests are skulking in the bushes, enraged because so many people are deserting them and coming to believe in Jesus. John is using this scene to set the stage for the betrayal of Jesus that is to come on that dark Maundy Thursday night.

My attention is drawn to Lazarus. Imagine him, sitting there beside Jesus, surrounded by his neighbors and friends. His sisters have cooked up the biggest feast they could arrange. Plates of food are everywhere! There is laughter, and music, dancing and singing, everyone is having the best time. And there sits Lazarus. Maybe still a little dazed and stunned from his recent ordeal. Can’t you imagine his face? The biggest smile, wide eyes that are taking it all in. He hasn’t had time to process everything that has happened, but he is alive, and he is savoring life in a way he has never savored it before now. Understanding can come later; right now, he is near bursting with the joy of being alive and among his family. He has been freed from the tomb and is determined he will never take life for granted ever again.

There is much about life I take for granted, and much more that I do not understand. But even in these difficult days, there is so much of life, so much of the love of God surrounding us all to insist that even in the midst of calamity, I should be looking toward life and celebrating that life.

There are difficult days ahead, but no matter what, God’s love for us is not diminished. Death will not prevail against the love of God. No clique of skulking criminals hiding in the bushes will be able to defeat us, no virus will destroy, not even the death of our bodies will be the end of our story.

There will certainly be more difficult days ahead, but the end of the story belongs to God. Understanding may not come today, but we, like Lazarus, are invited to sit back and savor the joy of life because we are beloved siblings with Christ.

England, in the Year 1342. Geoffrey Chaucer was born. You may have heard of his “Canterbury Tales” though he wrote a great deal more. Some have dubbed him the “Father of English Literature.” That may be, but in addition to this poet and author, another birth took place in England that same year. Her name we know as Julian. She wrote the first book in English by a woman. That achievement is worthy of notice no matter what other circumstances, but she wrote that book as an anchorite to the Church in Norwich. After her husband and children died in the Great Plague, she moved into a space in the Cathedral in Norwich as an anchorite; essentially a hermit living in the Church.
Her solitude gave her the time and focus to devote her life to prayer. She prayed for the Church, for its Priests and Pastors, for its parishioners, for the King, and for the nation. Bishops, princes, and generals came to her for counsel. They valued her wisdom; they sought her to pray for them.
These days of enforced social distancing are so jarringly different from our typical days. Life feels very disrupted; our routines have been pushed aside. Isolation feels like punishment.
We could choose to see this time apart as an opportunity to spend more time with God. The usual distractions of groups, and dinners in restaurants set aside, we could choose to see the time as an opportunity to practice the calling of solitary prayer.
We could choose to see this time of solitude as a gift. Early in the morning, when everyone else in the house is asleep, when there are no distractions, when your mind has quieted itself from the general churning of the day, then you may discover that you can feel God’s presence more keenly, hear God’s whispered voice more clearly, let go of your own need to be in total control and allow your spirit to sink into the Holy Spirit, where you may be renewed, refreshed, and strengthened for tomorrow’s challenges.
Find your own hermitage today, where you may go alone to meet God’s loving presence.

A friend of mine posted the online question, “Where is your favorite place to meet God for conversation these days?” The photo accompanying the question is a gorgeous shot of a trail through the woods. Snow lines the path, the winter sun shines through the bare branches.

Looks like a splendid place for a conversation. I do love walking in the woods as a place for that sacred conversation. When the tree canopy is dense enough, even a little rain doesn’t hamper the walk or the conversation. Along a running stream, where the water chortles over stones and shushes away my errant thoughts, these are ideal spots for conversation with God.

God comes to me when I’m at home, most often as I’m sitting on the ground, pulling up what God has planted. God plants many more in “my garden” than I ever do. I can fall back into a compulsion for order, straight lines and mulched paths, orderly flowers and plants standing at attention. God’s garden is one of outrageous extravagant abundance. Any spot of open soil, God quickly fills in with growth. The perennials I have planted are just budding green now, but some of the ground cover God planted has leaves up and producing oxygen already.

God and I commonly have conversations while I pull weeds impose my own sense of order onto God’s creation plan that looks so much like chaos to the unobservant.
When the weather is too bad to be outside, I get to take advantage of the Church Nerds’ best job perk. I work in a building that has its own sanctuary. Stained glass, tall ceilings to inspire awe, a century and a half of prayers still whispering their way around the room. Sometimes in the middle of the week, I just slip out of my study, into the dark and quiet sanctuary for a little chat. No matter how troubled or anxious I am, a few minutes there always brings me to a place of calm assurance.

Where is your special place? Where for you is that location where you and God can have that conversation?

 

It’s a silly analogy, I know, but bear with me just a moment, please. Imagine what life was like in our “Cave dwelling” days, before refrigeration, before electricity, before Facebook. Humans lived in loosely related groups of up to a hundred or so. Some of these groups had individual yurts, wikiups, or tipis for immediate families, but many of them lived in community-sized long houses, or in caves with the whole village living together as one unit.
Imagine this: a small group of hunters go out looking for food. They get lucky and kill a wooly mammoth. That’s great!
How do you eat a wooly mammoth? Our modern answer is: one bite at a time.
But there is a problem with that. Not having refrigeration or freezer, that mammoth is going to rot long before your family can eat it all, one bite at a time.
The pre-refrigeration answer to how do you eat a wooly mammoth is: the whole community feasts. It’s possible that the hunters who brought down this big wooly beast were all one nuclear family, but they will share the feast with the entire village. The selfish reason is that their family, no matter how many kids they might have, won’t be able to eat the whole thing before it goes bad. The more important answer is that this gesture makes the entire community stronger, strengthens the friendship and cooperation bonds, makes the whole community healthier. They had learned that communities do best when everyone works together for the benefit of the whole; far better than “every man for himself and devil take the hindmost.”
There are a few communities like that still existing in the world. They share everything with each other, and look at the idea of “every man for himself…” as utter madness. Because they recognize that such selfish actions not only weaken the individual, but also threaten the entire community.
Psychologists like Abraham Maslow imagined that the highest achievement of humans is the self-reliant, autonomous individual who needs no one else. That is a foolish, dangerous illusion.
We are community animals who work best when we cooperate as an entire group; we thrive by working together. We make best use of resources when we make a community-wide feast of that wooly mammoth.

Thinking about conflict lately sent me back to Speed Leas, who wrote about Church conflict. Leas describes five levels of conflict through objectives and use of language. As I held his work up to the current public discourse, it gave me the shivers. Here is a very brief description of Leas’ work:

Level One: Problems to Solve. The objective is to work out a solution to the problem. The focus remains on an amicable resolution to the conflict. Those operating at this level do not perceive the conflict as person-oriented, but as a problem which needs to be solved, confident that good solutions are discoverable. Language is straight-forward and present-centered. There are no hidden agendas.

Level Two: Disagreements. There is an increased guardedness and a felt need for self-protection. Statements move from specifics to generalizations. Compromise is the perceived solution for dealing with differences.

Level Three: Contests. Conflict becomes a contest with a zero-sum, winners and losers. Winning is all that matters; losers must be debased. Perceptions become distorted. “Although it occurs infrequently, healthy resolution of conflict at this level is still possible.”

Level Four: Fight/Flight. The objective becomes to hurt the opponent, or to get rid of them. Being right and punishing those who are wrong. Language is general, terms like ‘truth, freedom, justice’ become the center of the arguments, abandoning the specific issues that began the disagreement.

Level Five: Intractable Solutions. Conflict run amok. The objective is to destroy the opponent at any cost.

Leas says, “The first two levels are easy to work with; the third is tough; the fourth and fifth levels are very difficult and impossible.”

All of this is currently taking place within the framework of what feels like a world-wide rise in hostility, nationalism, anger, and racism. It feels as if we are operating entirely in levels three, four, and five. We have completely abandoned the idea of working together to find a solution for our common problems. Despicable labels like ‘fascism’ and ‘socialism’ are hurled; anyone who is not in one hundred percent agreement with us is referred to with insults and accusations of the vilest crimes. There seems to be a complete lack of respect and civility for anyone else. It feels as if the heat of this hostility has been growing rapidly over the past few years.

If Leas is right, and level three through five conflicts are essentially impossible to find resolution, then how do we push “reset” and back down the conflict level to a place where we can work together again? In my opinion, Leas isn’t much help in this department. He describes a situation without hope, then throws up his arms and walks away. Haugk, whose work in this area is informative, also has little if anything to say about how to restore civility and lower the conflict levels. His very short section is titled, “The (Mostly) False Hope for Change.” Haugk’s next chapter after that bit of sunshine is on the question of whether one should leave or not.

Leaving may work for the individual, but it doesn’t solve the underlying problems, nor does it really lower the conflict level, and it is only a viable option for a very small number of people. Before the 2016 election, some people threatened to leave the country and go live somewhere else if their candidate was not elected. Maybe one of the people I knew actually followed through on that. That strategy may work for a very few, but it is not a national solution.

I remember one other person who threatened to leave the country over the results of a Presidential election (in the 1970’s) and did. He moved to Australia. In a few years, he came back. There is an adage about the grass seeming to be greener on the other side of the fence that might apply here.

Since leaving isn’t a real option for most of us, and total destruction of those who disagree with our position is too frightening to contemplate, we are left with the task of figuring out how to reduce the conflict back down to levels one or two.

Eitan Hersh had a podcast appearance on Hidden Brain talking about a technique called “Deep Canvassing,” which claims to change the attitudes of people one time in ten. A ten percent success rate sounds pretty dismal, but it is better than no success at all. Deep Canvassing is basically an intense two-way conversation, expressing honest and real feelings, describing personal experiences which have led the canvasser to a particular point of view. The process involves honest, respectful connection and conversation, seeking to understand more than to coerce change.

What was that thing Jesus said? “You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ 44 But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be children of your Father in heaven; for he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the righteous and on the unrighteous. For if you love those who love you, what reward do you have? Do not even the tax collectors do the same? And if you greet only your brothers and sisters, what more are you doing than others? Do not even the Gentiles do the same? 48 Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect.” -Matthew 5:43-47

Love those who have declared themselves to be my enemy? Treat with civility one who bombards me with insults, dismissals, and derogatory words? Open myself to hear the needs behind the voices that offer me only accusing, moralistic, judgmental generalizations? Respect the one who shows me only dis-respect? Oh, Jesus, you do set such a high bar. And yet, you do expect your followers to obey your teachings, even when the words are difficult to hear and go against our animal instincts.

Mutual respect; refusal to use or accept insults, put-downs, or derogatory comments, staying on subject, avoiding generalizations, genuinely listening to the perspectives and needs of “the other side.” Engaging in what Jan Lynn refers to as the tyranny of the minority. As difficult as these actions are, do they hold a realistic chance of reconciliation?

Can that work? Can it be as simple as insistently staying in that Level One and Two framework, insisting that conversation remain civil and focused on solving the problem at hand without insults or hostility or the need to win, or destroy the one who sees the issue differently? Is that enough to change the destructive tone of our recent civil discourse?

We do have some significant issues in this country: the national budget and national debt, education, healthcare, the range of incomes, racism, our contribution to global climate change. All of these are very important, and they are not in any particular order of importance. Plus, I am sure I have left out some important ones.

We have significant problems to solve, and they demand we work together to reach the best solutions. Because that is what communities do, we come together to solve our common problems. We are not a gaggle of people who happen to live near one another. We are, like it or not, a community, and we will thrive or fail based on our willingness to work together. We can find solutions to problems and we can resolve disagreements with civility and mutual respect, but only if we are able to lower the heat of our conflicts back into those zones where problem solving is possible.

One of the poems my mother read to me when I was a child was about the gingham dog and the calico cat whose epic battle utterly destroys them both, leaving no trace of either one.

If we fail to address this underlying hostility, we will destroy ourselves; there will be nothing left but pain and suffering and the scraps and tatters of a once-great nation. What a shame that will be. Centuries from now, historians will write about how this powerful, resource-rich nation destroyed itself from within, and America will become a by-word for failure and shame.

A shade over 24 more hours to the end of 2019 and the 2nd decade of the third millennium. I can’t say I’m eager for 2019 to be gone; it has been a decent enough year, certainly my life has been without any great calamities this year. On the other hand, this has been a year of positives worth celebrating. The church I am privileged to serve has been amazing, rising to financial challenges and cheerfully accepting new ministry opportunities. This has been a year of blessings.

Soon enough, we will enter the third decade of this millennium. There will be momentous opportunities and important turning points ahead. 2020 may well prove to be a year memorized by history students for centuries to come. Or, we may look back and see sanity and cooperation restored and the beginnings of significant progress.

Several times in the past few weeks, I have been struck by how long ago events in the past now have taken place. Is it possible that 1980 was forty years ago? This fall will mark twenty-five years of ordained ministry for me. In many ways, the years have passed so quickly, and in other ways, it feels as if ministry has been a part of my life for much longer. That’s part of what it means to have passed into such a decrepit old age.
My prayers for this New Year are to find new levels of closeness between my own spirit and God’s Holy Spirit, to walk more closely with Christ, to let that Holy Spirit continue to burn away the resistant imperfections that stubbornly remain in me. May God continue to shape and transform me, molding me to reflect more the love of Christ for those who know me; especially to be more authentically loving to those closest to me, the ones who see me at my most imperfect.

May God bring to you the deepest desires of your heart; and may your heart draw you nearer to God, who loves you beyond all measure.