Lamentations 3:37-58

“I called on your name, O Lord,
from the depths of the pit;
you heard my plea, ‘Do not close
your ear
to my cry for help, but give
me relief!’
You came near when I called
on you;
you said, ‘Do not fear!’
You have taken up my cause,
O Lord,
you have redeemed my life.” (vv. 55-58)

This is the darkest day of the church year, the greatest test of our faith. The man celebrated as the Messiah entered Jerusalem just six days ago, greeted greeted like royalty by throngs with palms, only to be betrayed, arrested, arraigned on trumped-up charges, and crucified to pacify a fickle mob. Now the fledgling movement he led with forgiveness and healing is bereft, leaderless, faced with teaching the gospel without a guide. They had been warned of this day, but none of the disciples could have been ready. His promised return must have seemed impossibly abstract after the tomb was shut. They were left only with prayer.

The poems of grief collected in Lamentations are harrowing expressions of anguish and loss after the destruction of the temple and Babylonian exile. These poems speak from “the pit” of utter isolation and give voice to a fearful gulf between God and his people. And yet, the mournful cry of the speaker in Lamentations is at once the cry of the disciples for their Lord’s resurrection. And their prayer is answered:

“Do not fear!”

They—and we—have been redeemed. Our Redeemer comes!

Hear our cry, Lord. Comfort us in our need. Renew our belief. Amen.

~David Sw.

John 19:38-42

“They took the body of Jesus and wrapped it with the spices in linen cloths” (v. 40).

That hour just after the death of a loved one is a holy hour.

It is so different from the desperate final hours of life. The frantic response to the fatal illness, the desperate medical attempts to fix it, the urgent calls and texts, the squabbling with relatives and doctors, the hell of seeing the loved one’s final labor.

Then, when it’s over—when the loved one is released from her struggle, there is that holy quiet. Just memories and gratitude, a washing over of gratitude at having loved and been loved by this person. Forgiveness—no squabbles now. Courage—nothing can hurt me now. Peace. Love overflowing.

I like to imagine that it was in this state that Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus looked upon Jesus’ finally-still body. They had stood the entire vigil. They had agonized with Jesus through the whole unjust thing. Then, in the holy quiet surrounding his death, both these secret disciples found the courage to step out of the shadows, determined to love and honor the man, at least in death. Joseph “outted” himself by asking Pilate’s permission for the body. Nicodemus joined him, providing a hundred pounds of myrrh and aloes. Maybe they had servants assisting, but the story says these presumably wealthy and powerful men personally wrapped Jesus’ body with the spices, according to the burial customs of the Jews, and laid him in a brand new tomb, like royalty.

That blessed state of humility, bravery, clarity, honor and love—they had it in that holy hour. God bless us with the grace to live in that state every hour.

Here might I stay and sing—no story so divine! Never was love, dear King, never was grief like thine. This is my friend, in whose sweet praise I all my days could gladly spend; I all my days could gladly spend. Amen.

~Ruth

John 13:1-17, 31b-35

“Now before the festival of Passover, Jesus knew that his hour had come to depart from this world and go to the Father. … And during the supper Jesus … got up from the table, took off his outer robe and tied a towel around himself. Then he poured water in a basin and began to wash the disciples feet and to wipe them with the towel that was tied around him.”

This familiar scene has become part of our Maundy Thursday ritual. But I find myself wondering, what exactly did the disciples think was going on? First, it is important to note that, according to John, all this took place “before the festival of Passover.” The other Gospels, however, place the Last Supper on the first night of Passover. But John chooses to put it the day before the Passover because, in part, that would put Jesus’ crucifixion at the time the Passover lambs were being sacrificed. John makes frequent reference to Jesus being the “Lamb of God.”

In this passage the disciples are at a meal with Jesus when he begins to wash their feet. I doubt they had any idea what Jesus was doing or why. In fact, Peter initially refuses to let Jesus wash his feet, to which Jesus responds, “You do not know now what I am doing, but later you will understand.”

After Jesus had finished, he returned to the table and said to them, “Do you know what I have done for you? You call me Teacher and Lord—and you are right, for that is what I am. So if I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet. For I have set you an example, that you should also do as I have done for you.”

Here Jesus is teaching the disciples and us about humility and servant leadership. Like us, I don’t believe they got it right away. It’s a hard lesson to learn. It is not about being the top dog or even about getting recognition for what we have done. It is about how we choose to serve those whom we have been called to lead. Jesus’ lesson leads right into his final commandment, to love one another as he has loved us, as a servant willing to sacrifice all in the service of loving God and all people, even those who we don’t particularly like or who betray us. After all, Jesus washed Judas’ feet despite being aware that Judas was about to betray him.

Dear God give us the humility and the faith not to seek glory or recognition but to truly love you and the world in the face of both joy and adversity just as you and Jesus love us. Amen.

~Keith

Lamentations 2:1-9

“How the Lord in his anger has set the daughter of Zion under a cloud! He has cast down from heaven to earth the splendor of Israel; he has not remembered his footstool in the day of his anger” (v. 1).

Just the title of this book of the Bible, Lamentations, irked me. I don’t want to lament things for long; I want to look to the future. But then a bit of research produced some interesting details. These psalms of lamentation were thought to be the work of Jeremiah, but more recent scholarship finds that the “thought and diction” are so different from other writings by Jeremiah that his authorship remains in doubt. I also learned that each of the first four chapters forms an alphabetic acrostic with one stanza for each of the 22 letters of the Hebrew alphabet. That is something one cannot see in English translations, but it must have been fun for the ancient Hebrew author(s) to construct such complexity. Or would the listeners have recognized, even anticipated, the acrostic structure when these psalms were read aloud on days of mourning and fasting?

In the verse that I selected, two aspects intrigue me. First is the overall belief, evident everywhere in Lamentations, that the author believes that God controls every detail of life. When things go wrong in Israel, the author is certain that God made those terrible events occur. The people have transgressed, and punishment comes from the Lord. It is the Lord who has brought his wrath to Israel, ruined its strongholds, and destroyed its palaces. Do we in the UCC believe that God controls every aspect of our lives? We emphasize God’s love much more than God’s wrath. At least in some verses in Lamentations, a repentant Israel does gain some hope from the Lord.

The second intriguing detail is the metaphor of the footstool. Israel, the daughter of Zion and Judah, is the footstool of the Lord, writes the psalmist. What is lowlier, more powerless, than a footstool? But I want to say to everyone: you are no footstool. Don’t allow yourself to be a footstool. Stand up for yourself. Perhaps Lamentations, in fact, represents just that kind of assertion.

Dear God, help us find the right combination of humility and assertiveness in life. Help us get beyond lamentation to hope. Amen.

~Susan

On Sunday, the Preschool celebrated Palm Sunday and the beginning of Holy Week by revisiting the book The Easter Story by Brian Wildsmith and recreating the scene of Palm Sunday with donkeys, cloaks, and palms, and blocks (built by the children into the Temple of Jerusalem).  We interacted with our storytelling landscape, played “Pin the Cloak on the Donkey,” decorated our Lenten grass baskets to take home, finished our Easter Mural, which is now hanging from the bannister at the church entrance.  We had a busy, interactive, and engaging day!

~Jessica

As I was walking up from my house to the Welcome Garden last Saturday, I was joined     by a woman who had moved recently to the neighborhood. She noticed that I was carrying pruners and garden gloves and asked me where I was going. I explained. Her response was music to my ears. “Is that the place with the labyrinth? It is so wonderful; it’s like an open ministry to the whole community.” That, of course, is what we had prayed for when we imagined and created the Welcome Garden.

On Saturday, spring cleanup day at WCUC, a team of gardeners went to work in our Welcome Garden with loppers and rakes, hedge clippers and gloved hands to spruce up the area for Holy Week and the coming season. The winter, harsh as it was, had not left a great deal of damage. Indeed, all that snow cover probably protected the plants. Once leaf litter was cleared away, we saw ample evidence of new growth.

Indoors, a companion team cleaned out closets, cleaned and straightened up the meeting places in the building. As we did in the garden, I believe they too looked around at the end of the morning and felt grateful that so many hands had once again made our sacred and beloved home a “Welcome Place.”

~Polly

Mark 11:27-33

“By what authority are you doing these things?”

The chief priests, scribes, and elders confront Jesus as he enters the temple with an intellectual trap, for they are fearful of his growing strength, miraculous acts, and subversive teachings. This is a remarkable triumvirate of Jewish leaders who normally do not collaborate on issues, but Jesus poses a particular threat to the various institutions of leadership within the fabric of Jewish life. If they can get Jesus to slip up and prove that he is acting without authority, they hope they can turn the crowds against him and then bring him up on charges. Jesus brilliantly answers the question with a question, an old rabbinical debating technique, and he stymies the Jewish leaders into a non-answer, embarrassing them in front of the crowds.

I find myself admiring Jesus’ quick wit, penetrating comeback, and open-ended response. I might even say that I am envious of his intellectual prowess and command of the situation. As a father, an educator, a coach, and a counselor, I find that my authority is questioned fairly often. Obviously, no one is challenging the divine origin of my authority, but its source and relevance can be open game for a precocious teenager or demanding parent. Jesus inspires me to truly listen to the questioner, assess the deeper meaning of the inquiry, and not seek an immediate resolution to the challenge, nor to take it personally. By creating some space and a bit of dissonance, Jesus draws the Pharisees out into the open, and they reveal their true intentions and the real meaning behind their questioning.

O Lord, you are a God of unlimited patience in the face of our questioning, our unfaithfulness, and our ignorance. Inspire us to listen, to comprehend, and to grasp the meaning behind the questioners in our lives. Your wisdom is at our fingertips if we are willing to heed your words. Amen.

~Matt

Mark 11:15-20

“After entering the temple, he threw out those who were selling and buying there. He pushed over the tables used for currency exchange and the chairs of those who sold doves. He didn’t allow anyone to carry anything through the temple” (vv. 15-16).

Uprising

What is this work we do—
Aligning the mind,
The body,
And the spirit?

It has taken 40 years to learn,
And yet even longer still,
To integrate into my heart,
Only that which has come through,
The prophets and the priestesses,
Those stone cairns,
So graciously set
Upon my path.

I have left behind,
The capital and wastes
Of uniform religion.
Guilt and corrupt priests,
Burn in their own recoil.
They degrade love and other lovers,
Dethroned or decomposed,
In entropic waves of fear.

Jesus was not passive with an S—
No, not sleeping,
But a pacifist with a C,
Compassionate Christ.

Turning the other cheek
In challenge to the authorities,
Beckoning them to examine
Their shadows, their low selves.
Yes, Jesus was wide awake,
Until he was not.
What is this work we do?
Growing strong the flesh and the blood.

We ride into Jerusalem—
Although we hardly want to.

We prepare to shed
The mind and the body.
We kneel in thanks,
Giving to the Spirit,
Ascending into something powerful,
Something useful as a tree,
Or if we have lived rather well,
A prayer.

When we carry nothing—no baggage, grudges, or fears—we become light, empty, and open, and thereby freed to step outside the city, and inside of prayer.

~Marjorie

Matthew 21:1-11

“The crowds that went ahead of him and that followed were shouting, ‘Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna in the highest heaven!’”

Every pew was taken. Folks were standing in the aisle and perched on the windowsills of Mason Temple in Memphis, Tennessee on April 3, 1968. They were there to hear Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. preach. The words that evening still ring in America’s ears, not only for his storied eloquence but also for their haunting prescience of the following day:

Well, I don’t know what will happen now. We’ve got some difficult days ahead. But it doesn’t matter with me now. Because I’ve been to the mountaintop… And I’ve looked over. And I’ve seen the promised land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people will get to the promised land. And I’m happy, tonight. I’m not worried about a thing. I’m not fearing any man. Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord.

In much the same way, a multitude had gathered in the streets of Jerusalem, perched on tree branches, crowded in doorways. Like the people of Memphis, they were there to greet the one they believed would set them free. Like the people of Memphis, they too had lived under the heavy yoke of oppression. “Hosanna,” they shouted, which means “save us.” And in Memphis, the people said “Amen.” And like the Liberator in Memphis, that One too would be killed because of what he said and did.

Did Jesus know what he was in for as he entered the city? Was he aware that his days on earth were numbered?

I will never know the answer to that question, nor whether Dr. King was prophesying his own death. Nonetheless, what does seem clear is that each remained faithful to the call to which God had called him, to the end.

Loving and Ever-present One, you have sent men and women to us to show us your Way of justice, peace and reconciliation. As we look to the week ahead, with its sorrow and its surprise, keep us faithful to our call as we too do our part to heal a hurting world. Amen.

~Polly

Psalm 42

“As the deer pants for the streams of water
so my soul pants for you, O God.
My soul thirsts for God, for the living God.
Where can I go and meet with God?” (vv. 1-2).

I love going to church and during worship I seek messages from God that inspire me to live more fully as he wants. One Sunday it was extremely cold and icy and not really safe for me to attend church. So I decided to spend worship time with God in my own home.

I sang some favorite hymns, and read a psalm and a passage from Luke. Next I finished a book I had received as an early Christmas gift about Elizabeth and Mary as they faithfully obeyed God and together awaited the births of John and Jesus. I rejoiced. I prayed that I, too, will seek to become as faithful and obedient in listening for God’s commands.

No, I couldn’t attend church that Sunday, but my soul was refreshed and fed after I had worshiped with God at home.

O living, loving God, help me to remember that you are ever-present, always waiting to quench my thirst and feed my soul. Amen.

~Fran