Lenten Journal: Three Day Rule: It's Sunday

"Plus it's Sunday, so everyone's in church already, and they're all in there like "Oh no, Jesus is dead", and then BAM! He bursts in the back door, runnin' up the aisle, everyone's totally psyched, and FYI, that's when he invented the high five." Barney Stinson

It's Sunday.

Easter has come. The miracle of all miracles is being celebrated. People, who do not attend church on a regular basis, crowd chapels, sanctuaries, homes, all for a celebration on a Sunday. For many they come out of obligation. For many, they have been attending church out of obligation for years. Some come because there is a need to publicly celebrate the resurrection with others. Some come because Easter has become a symbol, a moment of hope in their tattered lives; hope in a Christ who not even death could contain. Some come in hope that this Easter story is true. Some come because they have nowhere else to be on this Sunday.

It's Sunday.

I admit that I find myself belonging to each of the groups above. I am guilty of viewing Sunday as an obligation. An obligation to put on a smile and pretend all is well. I am guilty of viewing Sunday as jut another day. It is just another Sunday...isn't it?

It's Sunday.

But Sunday's no longer just a Sunday. Sunday is about the celebration of Easter. Easter changes Sunday. The day means something more than it did before and means something more each time it comes along. I am grateful for Easter. I am grateful for Christ who changes everything. I am grateful that it is Sunday.

Lenten Journal: Three Day Rule: It's Saturday

"Yet the absence of the imagination had itself to be imagined. The great pond, the plain sense of it, without reflections, leaves, Mud, water like dirty glass, expressing silence" Wallace Stevens

It's Saturday.

Just twenty-four hours ago, experienced great agony and died a great death. You humbled yourself. You
allowed yourself to be humiliated. You lowered yourself. You looked death in the face and embraced the horror. The cross is an image of horror, of suffering, of pain, and of death. It's Saturday and soon that image will change.

It's Saturday.

Thirty-nine days ago, I began a journey to the cross with you. I opened myself up. I wanted to learn to put complete trust in you. I wanted to see you in a new unimagined way. I have. I began this season with the hope that by the end I would be able to pray, "I shall gratefully accept everything, Lord, that pleases you. Let your will be done." It's Saturday and while I have encountered you in unimaginable ways, I still feel the struggle to pray the prayer without hesitation.

It's Saturday.

I thank you Lord for it is Saturday.

Lenten Journal: Three Day Rule: It's Friday...

"It was now about noon, and darkness came over the whole land until three in the afternoon, while the sun’s light failed; and the curtain of the temple was torn in two. Then Jesus, crying with a loud voice, said, ‘Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.’ Having said this, he breathed his last." Luke 23:44-46

It's Friday.

You're hanging there; arms outstretched; your hands and feet nailed to a tree. Your mother below at your feet, watching you suffering. It's Friday.

It's Friday.

You're dying. You've been beaten and battered. All because you offered life to those who would be denied. Nailed, mocked, taunted, spat on. Were we not just singing Hosanna? It's Friday.

It's Friday.

Nothing good about it. Nothing good will come of this...Oh my God, my God, why have you forsaken us?

It's Friday...it's just Friday

Lenten Journal: The Voice of the Shepherd

"When he has brought out all his own, he goes ahead of them, and the sheep follow him because they know his voice.They will not follow a stranger, but they will run from him because they do not know the voice of strangers." John 10:4-5

Every morning I walk through a smokey haze that builds up under the awning. Under the smoke on and around the bench sit/stand a group of recovering addicts who in their smoke search for hope. Every morning I say hello and spend a brief moment checking in. When I say moment, I mean a moment, no longer than a minute. For the most part it is no more than a simple hello. Each morning, after the greeting, I walk up the ramp way, unlock the door, and go inside. Every morning my routine is the same.

This morning something strange happened. This morning my eyes saw something new. After a brief conversation with young lady named Kim, I headed up the ramp way and out of the smoke filled air I heard a voice saying, "I love you. I love you. I love you." I looked back and my eyes became open to what was taking place. There on the bench sat a long hair, bearded man saying to each one, "I love you. I love you. I love you."

I began to tear up knowing that the voice that is speaking out of the smoke of our desperation, out of our pain, out of our selfishness, out of our ignorance is the voice of the one shepherd who is the good shepherd. The one who says, "I am the gate" "I am the good shepherd" "I am the living water" "I am the way" speaks out of a cloud of nicotine to people who are clinging to whatever hope they have. The voice of the gatekeeper, of the shepherd is bringing life to those who feel they have none.

I turned around, unlocked the door. I turned back once more and the vision that came just seconds before remained: there sat Jesus saying, "I love you. I love you. I love you." I stepped inside, leaving the door unlocked knowing that Jesus would probably not come in today.

Our prayer:

Come people of the Risen King, who delight to bring Him praise;

Come all, and tune your hearts to sing to the Morning Star of grace.

From the shifting shadows of the earth, we will lift our eyes to Him,

where steady arms of mercy reach, to gather children in

Come those whose joy is morning sun, and those weeping through the night;

Come those who tell of battles won, and those struggling in the fight.

For His perfect love will never change, and His mercies never cease,

but follow us through all our days with the certain hope of peace.

Come young and old from every land, men and women of the faith;

Come those with full or empty hands—find the riches of His grace.

Over all the world, His people sing—shore to shore we hear them call

the truth that cries in every age, “Our God is all in all.”

("Come People of the Risen King" by Keith and Kristyn Getty and Stuart Towmend)

Lenten Journal: Something Poetic About Standing in the Rain

There is something poetic about standing in the rain
Caught between the sun and moon
As both do shine

There is something poetic when one looks up to the sky
The rain falls while the sun and moon both do shine
In humorous contrariety light radiates

There is something poetic in a gathering encircled by rain
Standing between the sun and moon
Light from both do shine

There is something poetic in the glistening of the red wheelbarrow
Glazed in the rain as the sun and moon both shine
While the earth quenches her thirst

The end is inspired by "The Red Wheelbarrow" by William Carlos Williams. His poem reminds me how something universal may be found in the mundane by simply observing it through the eyes of a Creator.

The poem is my attempt to capture the moment of standing in the rain while the sun shines from the west and the moon shines from the east.

Lenten Journal: In My Confession

"He was oppressed, and he was afflicted, yet he did not open his mouth; like a lamb that is led to the slaughter, and like a sheep that before its shearers is silent, so he did not open his mouth" Isaiah 53:7

They are sending you to the cross. But you know that…don’t you. You’re going to go willingly, aren’t you? You only crime was to sit at the table of sinners and eat with them...oh and the whole “I’m God’s Son thing.” You became valuable to them. Your actions will drive them to put you before Pilate and demand your crucifixion…but you know that, don’t you. You will take the place of a known criminal, a murderer. You will hang beside criminals. They will hurl their stones, their insults, their hatred at you, shouting, “Crucify him! Crucify him!” You will take it…won’t you? Doubt there's a chance you'll change your mind? Didn't think so...You will take it. Like a lamb, you will die…so that we may live.

I have laid our palm branches at your feet. But soon I will raise our voices against you. I have listened to your parables. Your stories of what the kingdom of God was like…in turn I deny you because I am afraid. Over the years, I’ve distorted your message to suit my needs, my own agenda. I’ve distorted your story to tell one that puts me above others. I’ve sought after power and riches, forgetting that you told me not to worry for those are things of this world. I’ve broken your commandment to love others as you love me. I come to you shamelessly. I come to you seeking your forgiveness. Forgive me of my sins, for I myself forgive everyone indebted to me. I confess to you…Lamb of God...sweet Lamb of God…forgive me.

Lenten Journal: The Politician, the DA, the Minister

"Deep in a dark forest, a forest field with rain; beyond the stretch of Maryland pines there's a river without a name. In the cold black water, Johnson Linnier stands. He stares across at the city lights and dreams of where he's been." Bruce Springsteen

There are days I feel like I'm more of a politician or a defense attorney, working a system to gain strength in order to do something or constantly on defending someone accused of something. It's a feeling that is strong enough to create an unhealthy anxiety level within. It's a mixture of necessary and unnecessary anxiety. There are times in this world that I am forced to play the role of a politician in order achieve a goal. There are times I am needed to come to the defense of a student, a friend, a congregant, a colleague. There are times I simply wish to minister.

Is it possible to be a minister in the church without feeling like your campaigning for votes or preparing a defense?

In all honesty, I am not sure. I sincerely hope so. It's easy to blurt out a yes. It's just as easy to blurt out a no. I have heard the arguments before. I have heard that the professional minister toes the line because we get paid and we have to earn a paycheck to dinner on the table. Perhaps that is the problem. Is getting paid to do what we do the reason for the question above? Would ministers be better off serving freely and working a secular job?

Perhaps it is true: so much depends upon a red wheel barrow glazed with rain water beside the white chickens ("The Red Wheelbarrow" William Carlos Williams)

I am not looking for answers to my questions. They are questions, nothing more and nothing less. The vocation of ministry hinges not on the above questions but my own willingness to humbly go where Christ leads. The questions are just questions. In those questions I listen to the voice that says, "Follow me."