"One week from today is Easter Sunday. It is the most important religious observance for followers of Jesus Christ. The main reason we celebrate Christmas is because of Easter. The Come, Follow Me lesson this week will prompt you to study the Savior’s triumphal entry into Jerusalem, His cleansing of the temple, His suffering in the Garden of Gethsemane, His Crucifixion, His glorious Resurrection, and His subsequent appearances to His followers.
"Savor these sacred verses and find every way you can to thank our Heavenly Father for sending us His Only Begotten Son. Because of Jesus Christ, we can repent and be forgiven of our sins. Because of Him, each of us will be resurrected."
Well, it might not have been exactly what he intended, but his words prompted the following examination by me, via Facebook.
Some say that the Monday before Easter is the day Jesus overthrew the money changers in the temple. But the Gospels of St. Matthew and St. Luke suggest that occurred on Palm Sunday, after his dramatic entry into Jerusalem.
What Luke tells us is that thereafter, Jesus taught daily in the temple. That, at least, was on his agenda for today.
It was also this morning that, after lodging in Bethany, he encountered a fig tree on his way back into Jerusalem, which, being fruitless, he cursed.
That story had always bothered my mother. I remember her reflecting that, taken at face value, it seemed petty and mean. But nothing Christ ever did or said should be taken merely at face value.
There are at least two lessons to be learned from Jesus' action toward the fig tree (over and above the "golly, he has power over nature" lesson, which was evident in almost everything he did).
One was the subtle critique of the religious leaders of Jerusalem at the time. In fact, that very same morning, upon his arrival at the temple, he is confronted by them, questioning his authority. In the course of their dialogue, Jesus teaches them parables about their errors, and warns, "Therefore say I unto you, The kingdom of God shall be taken from you, and given to a nation bringing forth the fruits thereof."
Another lesson, however, is to each of us individually. While it might seem comfortable to point accusing fingers at the religious leaders of Jerusalem, that judgement is not ours to make, and, besides, their story is now just history, and their history is an object lesson for us. Are we not as easily at risk of bearing the trappings of religiosity, but lacking the substance of "true religion"? Might we not display our faith by attending to our worship services, paying our tithes, dressing and speaking in appropriate ways, while within ourselves there is no spirit bringing forth fruits of genuine love, faith, service, hope, and joy? Is our heart crusted over by contention, condemnation, prejudice, anger, self-pity, self-interest, or fear?
It's easy to fake piety. But God, as the good book says, will not be mocked. If it isn't real, then we can expect to hear at the final judgment, "I never knew you; depart from Me."
Unfortunately, for most of us, some degree of the kind of hypocrisy he warns of, is real. But for many of us, that hypocrisy is also accidental. It is the result of "doing our best" while still not being "good enough". Thankfully, doing our best is all God truly asks of us.
The majority of people will not be those whom God rejects because their piety is false. Rather, the sincere in heart will always be welcome to him regardless of how little they think they have accomplished in this life. As the parable of the talents reveals, satisfying the will of God is not about how much one's investment in life returns, but about making that investment at all. As we seek to live our faith, the best we can, in the circumstances we are in, with the knowledge, resources, and talents we have, that will please the Lord, and he promises that, as a result, the fig tree of our faith will be eternally fruitful. Only, let it be real.
Holy Tuesday, one source says, was not an exciting day. Not like Thursday, Friday, and Sunday, they say. I say, they don’t understand what’s exciting about Jesus.
Yes, the events of the Last Supper, the atonement – starting in Gethsemane and ending upon the cross – and the resurrection, are all dramatic and critically important episodes in not just Jesus’ life, but the history of the world and for the hope of humanity; but, nonetheless, on the days prior, on Tuesday and Wednesday, Jesus offered many of his most profound and important teachings, many of the parables we love to learn from, and some of his sternest rebukes against the sins of false piety, faithlessness, and the failure to prioritize love above all else.
Choosing what to share of all those teachings, then, is a challenge. And, as this is Facebook, there is no reasonable way to share them all, except, of course, to encourage you to read them for yourself… and there, perhaps, is the hint I needed.
Of all the things that Jesus taught, perhaps the most important is not that he atoned for sins, the just for the unjust, and perhaps it is not that he demonstrated God’s love through miracles of healing, and His tender mercy through his many acts of kindness. Perhaps Jesus’ most important lesson was the *why* that underlies all those things.
As I consider the parables and teachings of Jesus during this period of time, I see in them a direction, a warning, and an invitation to maintain focus on God. To be watchful and diligent. To render to God that which is His. To be prepared for his coming.
There’s a lot in these scriptures that seems to focus on warnings and condemnations, but from the God of Love that Jesus preached, exemplified, and manifested, it is also deeply apparent that these are not truly warnings but pleas, not strict condemnations but loving invitations, extended personally to each and every one us, to come unto Him, to know and be known of Him, to love and be loved by Him.
This is the why: That God loves us. And in this day’s teachings, Jesus emphasizes not just that God loves us, but that He is not far from us, that He is profoundly interested in each of us individually, and that He is accessible to each of us personally.
Jesus reminds us that while the consequences of disregarding God in our lives can feel like rejection and dismissal from a wedding feast, that consequence depends entirely on us, while the Lord, for His part, is inviting us in, extending his arms of affection, as a mother hen gathers her chicks under her wings.
It does take discipline to be “good Christian,” but it thankfully takes only acknowledgement and acceptance of His love to know God.
__________________
*In my Holy Monday entry, I said “more than 2000 years ago”. I wasn’t doing the math right. Depending on when one thinks these things happened, it is more likely that it was a little less than 2000 years ago. But when counting millennia… who’s counting, right? Sigh.
{Today's image represents the invitation to all to come to the wedding feast, from Matthew ch. 22}
On this day… Jesus was betrayed.
It’s a breathtaking thought, that someone who had witnessed Jesus’ miracles, grace, and teachings, who had walked and worked with him, could turn him over to authorities he knew were opposed to him and, perhaps, who wanted him dead.
No one truly knows what was in Judas’ heart. St. John tells us he was a thief (John 12:6). Luke says that “Satan entered into him” and John says Jesus called him “a devil” (Luke 22, John 6). I tend to prefer an account like that presented in Jesus Christ Superstar: That he saw a different purpose and role for Jesus, from which he felt Jesus was dangerously diverted, and that he really had no idea what the authorities were planning to do to him. Some have suggested he thought this was a way to finally get Jesus to demonstrate his power. After all, what evil could be done to the Son of God? Surely his angels will fight for him? (Satan, indeed, suggested these things to Jesus’ ears even before his ministry began.)
But with all that, no one really knows.
I choose not to judge Judas. When I was young, I used to imagine the Second Coming as a kind of replay of Jesus’ first ministry, and used to think if I was his follower I’d be likely to be his second Judas. I was a kid, and not really thinking things through, but I think I was recognizing then the risks of being mistaken, of failing to perceive or understand what is right before one’s face, of being inconsistent or unstable in one’s heart and commitments, and particularly of hurting the ones we love through selfish, inconsistent, or ignorant behaviour, are so, so, so easy to come by.
So, I don’t judge Judas. After all, with what judgement you judge, you will be judged (Matt. 7:2). I’d rather err on the side of mercy, especially when I cannot know the whole of another’s story.
I also take this day to consider the sorrow of Jesus. How painful this week was for him. He knew what was coming; but knowledge is not much of a defense. I remember my mother sharing her conversation with a psychiatrist about her morbid fear of thunderstorms. “You know that probably comes from your childhood experience of bombing raids during the war,” he told her. “Yes, I know. And so?” she asked. He had no answer. He thought simply knowing the source would solve the problem. It didn’t. Her morbid fear continued. Knowledge does not guarantee that we avoid the emotions.
How sorry Jesus must have been to know he would be betrayed by not just a friend, but a disciple and a child of his grace. What sorrow he must feel for each of us in our varied states of sin and error. I am grateful he had the courage and strength to bear his own sorrows as well as all of ours in Gethsemane and on the cross. Those trials begin in earnest tomorrow.
Holy Thursday is the day of the Last Supper. Not a Pesach Seder; according to certain scriptures, that was yet to come. But a meal, his last meal, with his friends.
For the religious observances of the Church, this was a significant event. It was when Christ established, amongst other things, the sacrament that some call Eucharist or Holy Communion. In my tradition, it is simply called “The Sacrament”.
Sacraments are awesome things. In the book, Encounters with Christ, William P. Roberts compares them with acts of friendship. The “life of grace grows as any friendship does… through communication and response,” he writes. Just as a gift of flowers or a birthday card may strengthen relationships between people, the acts and words that comprise sacramental rituals serve to reinforce our relationship with God, representing the extension of His grace to us, “deepening [our] communion with [Him] in faith, trust and love.”
So, when Christ tells his disciples to remember him in the breaking of bread and sharing of wine, he is not asking to be remembered for his own sake, but so that we, through this practice, can connect over and over again with him in a manner that on the one hand demonstrates our love for him and on the other, both reminds us of, and communicates to us, his love and his grace toward us.
On this same night, Jesus also bent down to wash the feet of his disciples. When Peter resists, Jesus says, “If I do not wash you, you have no share with me.” “Lord,” he responds, “not my feet only but also my hands and head.”
I believe that Jesus was doing more in this act than just setting an example of the kind of humble service his followers should give to one another; instead, I believe, as his statement to Peter suggests, that he was also demonstrating to them that he and only he could save them.
This idea is presented beautifully by C. S. Lewis in The Voyage of the Dawn Treader. When the boy, Eustace, has been transformed by his pride, selfishness, and greed, into a dragon, it is not by his own efforts that he can peel off the dragon skin and become a human boy again. It is only when that great literary symbol of Christ, Aslan the Lion, applies his singularly sharp claws to tear the skin off of him that the boy is restored, cleansed, redeemed, and renewed.
The washing ordinance is one that, in my faith tradition, is also a sacred, sacramental practice, and one that for me seems to be the most precious and vital of all. In that sacred deed, I am reminded not only of the wholeness of my dependence on Christ, but of the wholeness of his willingness to bless, save, and restore me.
Tomorrow, we will be forced to reflect on the brutality with which Christ was treated. But soon after comes the Sunday of victory and restoration, as it will come for each and every one of us who accept his gifts as Peter did, who said, in effect, cleanse me not just in part, Lord, but all.
As you enter the Trappist monastery of Gethsemani (made most famous because of its long-time resident, Thomas Merton) there stands a large crucifix made of stone, and at its base is the ominous inscription, “I suffered this for you. What have you done for me?” A poignant question.
My business partner, who has been there, shared that fact with me, and explained how it comes to his mind whenever he feels irritation at some minor upset in his life. Stating what to every Christian should be foundational knowledge, he said, “There is nothing we can suffer, that Christ has not already suffered. He is God who suffers with us.”
God, indeed, did suffer.
On Good Friday, particularly, he suffered some of the greatest indignities the innocent can. Bearing no guilt himself, he was stripped, beaten, spat upon, stabbed, whipped, scourged, and scorned, and finally was dragged to the hill Golgotha where he was nailed to a cross, hung, and died. Even as he hung there, he suffered thirst, insults, and concern for his weeping mother’s well-being.
But he suffered before all that too. In the Garden of Gethsemane, outside Jerusalem’s walls, Jesus prayed, sorrowing, to his Father and ours, "My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass me by. Nevertheless, let it be as You, not I, would have it." He suffered fear. He suffered loneliness. And, ultimately, he suffered. He just plain suffered. Suffered enough, just (as we understand) from the agony caused by our sins, that “His sweat was, as it were, great drops of blood falling down upon the ground,” and an angel was sent to comfort him.
But before that he suffered too. He has, in fact, always suffered. Thousands of years before Jesus’ mortal birth, the prophet Enoch had a vision of God weeping over the earth. “How is it that thou canst weep, seeing thou art holy, and from all eternity to all eternity?” the prophet asked. “Behold these thy brethren,” came the answer, “they are the workmanship of mine own hands… [and I gave them a] commandment, that they should love one another… but behold, they are without affection, and they hate their own blood… Satan shall be their father, and misery shall be their doom… wherefore should not the heavens weep?”
Jesus’ story is indeed a story of eternal suffering.
Yet he says to us, “Be of good cheer.” The day of his dying is called “Good” (though etymologically, this likely means, primarily, sacred or holy). While it is critical that we remember the suffering of God for us, it is most important, for his sake and ours, that we also remember what it is for, which is that we are, by his grace, so that we might have joy.
Jesus Christ has indeed suffered for us in order for us to not suffer. So, what can we do for him? We can rejoice. “Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, rejoice,” wrote St. Paul, and he tells us how: Through honesty, purity, and justice, we rejoice.
Our rejoicing in Christ is not merely not to mourn, but to comfort those who are in need of it. We can stand by those who stand alone, help those who struggle, lift up the arms that hang down, and be anxiously engaged in many good causes. If there is anything virtuous, lovely, or of good report or praiseworthy, we can seek after those things. Then not only we, but God too will have joy, or as Isaiah said, “the pleasure of the Lord shall prosper”.
It is important to remember the suffering of our Lord, and that what he innocently bore belonged guiltily to us; and it is equally important for us to recall that, in his relentlessly loving way, he asks us, in return, not to weep for him, but to care for one another. This, I believe, is what it ultimately means to be a follower of Jesus Christ.
Holy Saturday is a bridge. For some, it might seem like a break. The stores open again. The religious obligations of Good Friday are done, and the celebration of Easter Sunday is yet to come. But Holy Saturday has other significance. And if you think the life and work of Jesus Christ was over and nothing happened till the Resurrection occurred, well, the scriptures tell a different story.
This day marks what some Christian traditions call the “Harrowing of Hell,” when Jesus, having died upon the cross, directly defeats the devil in the afterlife and frees the souls of the past righteous who had been trapped, faithfully awaiting his coming and his salvation in the underworld – call it Sheol, Hades, or Hell, whatever terminology works for you; in my tradition, we use the language in the King James translation of the New Testament and speak of him entering “prison” and inviting the just into “paradise”.
It was not, however, only the just to whom his word of salvation was committed. In life he taught, “They that be whole need not a physician, but they that are sick… for I am not come to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance.”
So, of his brief sojourn in the afterlife, St. Peter writes that Jesus, “went and preached unto the spirits in prison,” stating that these were those “which sometime were disobedient, when once the longsuffering of God waited in the days of Noah, while the ark was a preparing,” and explaining, “for this cause was the gospel preached also to them that are dead, that they might be judged according to men in the flesh, but live according to God in the spirit.”
These, then, were the sinners, the fallen, the unsaved in ancient days who were not preserved on the ark. These are those who had not heeded the prophets’ warnings, who did not prepare for God’s judgement to come, but who now had the opportunity to hear and choose whether or not to accept the word of God as preached by the Word of God, as if they had been present in and around Capernaum, Nazareth, and Jerusalem, when Jesus performed his mortal ministry (just as we have that opportunity now, when we read and reflect on the things he then taught and did).
Whether you also take these ideas literally, as I do, or believe them somewhat differently (according to whatever tradition you accept) or even just view them as metaphors or a pleasant myth, one point of significance in them is this: That the idea that Jesus preached his gospel to the disobedient from the days of Noah, that they might have the opportunity to follow him in the spirit as if they had been living in the flesh, teaches us that, therefore, even in our short lives, whatever sins or errors we have committed, whatever paths we have we walked, in whatever ways we have strayed from whatever we know to be good, all is not lost.
The atonement of Jesus Christ, wrought in blood and agony in Gethsemane and on the cross, is not of limited effect or duration, but is available for the salvation of all people both infinitely and eternally. Wherever you are in place or time, God, through His Son Jesus Christ, is there, present for you, and able to extend his arms of loving grace to enfold, protect, enable, and uplift you. There is no sorrow or circumstance that bars you from his love.
This, for me, is a part of the great significance of those few short verses of scripture that teach us why the Saturday that sits between the torment of Good Friday and the triumph of Easter Sunday is so very special, and holy, indeed.
**********
ON THIS DAY almost 2000 years ago.
Have you noticed how often people say, “how are you?” as a greeting, but anticipate no answer; they don’t even wait for one. Sometimes, some things, some sayings, became so common that their real meaning can become just taken for granted and eventually ignored.
In a sense, the declaration, “Christ is Risen!” can be like that. The common Easter acknowledgement is rich and deep with meaning, with joy and celebration, with relief and peace, with hope and blessing; but do we really know what that means or what it should feel like? When we say it, are we engaging in mere ritual and tradition, or in genuine rejoicing?
It helps me to imagine that first Easter morning, the day the women who followed Jesus went to the tomb to apply spices to his body. Suffering the shock and trauma of his death, they had collected themselves together and responsibly prepared the myrrh and other spices according to tradition, doing what people do for their dead out of love and honour and memory.
I have been to the funerals of both my mother and father. I have been in the room where my mother’s body lay and was to be prepared for burial. I have felt the complicated emotions that come with visitations, services, and interment.
I imagine that as they made their way by foot in the morning to where the sepulchre was, their feelings were deep, troubling, and complex. Did they notice whether the early morning air stung with breeze, or was dry and warm? Did they notice if the sun was shining, or if birds sang? Did they hear more than the patter or crunch of their measured steps? Did they walk in silence, not knowing what to say to one another? Did they experience trepidation, wondering what it would be like to witness again his tortured body lying in the tomb?
We can.
Today, we spent Easter morning in Church. We participated in the Sacrament of the Lord’s Supper – communion – sharing the broken bread and cup that signify his body and blood spent for us in the Garden of Gethsemane and on the cross at Calvary. In that sacred service, when we ate and drank in memory of his sacrifice, we carried to our lips the emblems of his death, but we received to our souls the evidence and effects of his resurrection.
The sacrament of communion is a moment in which, each time we participate in faith, we can experience anew the discovery of the empty tomb and encounter for ourselves the saving reality of the risen Lord.
Of course, the experience is not reserved for the sacrament alone. In the days that followed his resurrection, Jesus visited his disciples for 40 days, on the road and in their private rooms, teaching and testifying, demonstrating to them and for all of us that those who seek him may find him at any time and in any place when their hearts and minds are turned to him.
So, it is more than possible for the declaration that “Christ is Risen!” to be more than a seasonal greeting, to be said and sung with deep sincerity, to be the sure conviction of our souls, arising from our own experience with him. It is the invitation to this experience for which each Easter celebration is intended. May we each find and rejoice in him for ourselves!