The Pilgrim’s Way…Day 5

Tags

beautiful, blessing, body, connection, Eucharist, evensong, evocative, God, instrument, intimate, liturgy, music, pilgrimage, power, Salisbury, sound, spiritual, Winchester

Photo credit:  Jennifer Andrews-Weckerly; reuse with permission only

Sixteen pilgrims from Hickory Neck Church traveled to England for 8 days of pilgrimage.  Our focus was on choral music, hearing Evensong or Choral Mass at a Cathedral, Minster, or college everyday.  This is the fifth entry, initially posted on our church Facebook page.  For those of you who do not follow us on Facebook, I am repeating the journey’s daily entries here.  Enjoy!

Salisbury/Winchester

Today, I was struck by the tremendous power of liturgy. We stumbled into a midday Eucharist at Salisbury Cathedral. It was spoken, and the homily was humbly short, but poignant. Then, as the priest set the table, she asked if anyone was a licensed Chalicist. I didn’t volunteer for fear someone else would want to help, and even unsure what the rules were in the Mother Church. But as the priest finished the Eucharistic Prayer, I determined I would just go up and offer to help. As soon as the priest saw my collar, she gratefully handed me the chalice. I found myself profoundly moved: doing something almost innate, but something that also felt foreign in the vast space, in a country not my own. And yet the power of Christ’s meal knows no boundaries. His blood is shed for you, and my body is His instrument.

Later this evening, we attended Evensong at Winchester Cathedral. The Adult singers and boy Chorister’s voices sang in perfection: clean and clear, expressive and moving. Their anthem, Deep River, is the third movement of Michael Tippett’s oratorio about the Nazi government’s violent pogrom against its Jewish population—called Kristallnacht. Pulling from African-American spirituals, this last movement holds a message of hope for the possible healing that would come from Man’s acceptance of his Shadow in relation to his Light. Combining the sound of spirituals and Anglican Choral singing, and the message of justice and reconciliation, I felt all my spiritual worlds colliding, and the words and sounds brought me to tears. I was amazed by how evocative a piece a liturgical music could be. I left Evensong feeling like I had journeyed with God somewhere deeply intimate and profoundly beautiful.

I don’t know if you have had one of those liturgical moments lately. If you are longing for that kind of connection, you are always welcome at Hickory Neck. And if you have found that liturgical blessing, do share it with someone who needs it!

The lyrics for Deep River:

Deep river,
My home is over Jordan.
Deep river, Lord.
I want to cross over into campground.

Deep River,
My home is over Jordan.
Deep river, Lord,
I want to cross over into campground.

Oh, don’t you want to go,
To the Gospel feast;
That Promised Land,
Where all is peace?

Oh, deep river, Lord,
I want to cross over into campground.

Photo credit:  Jennifer Andrews-Weckerly; reuse with permission only

The Pilgrim’s Way…Day 3

Tags

Cambridge, escape, invitation, Jesus, liturgy, pilgrimage, rest, room, sabbath, worship

Photo credit:  Jennifer Andrews-Weckerly; reuse with permission only

Sixteen pilgrims from Hickory Neck Church traveled to England for 8 days of pilgrimage.  Our focus was on choral music, hearing Evensong or Choral Mass at a Cathedral, Minster, or college everyday.  This is the third entry, initially posted on our church Facebook page.  For those of you who do not follow us on Facebook, I am repeating the journey’s daily entries here.  Enjoy!

Cambridge

Today our pondering question was about sabbath, a fitting reflection for a Sunday full of worship. But even though I help create pondering questions, I rarely know how they will be answered. I was surprised, then, to see how much I learned about sabbath in churches today.

One of our hymns at St. John’s College set the perfect tone. You’ll see the words in the picture below. In it, Jesus offers the invitation to come unto him and rest – that we find resting in Him. Sabbath has always seemed to me to be about “escape from,” as in, escape from work, from stress, from the worldly. I had never thought of sabbath as being “escape to,” as in, escape to Jesus.

The other observation we made about sabbath was making room. St. John’s used the English pattern of praying the psalms where you pause an extra few seconds at the asterisks (or, half verse). This extra breath made the words breathe and come alive. Meanwhile, at King’s we found the liturgy was not rushed. There were pauses in familiar prayers or the Creed that were unfamiliar, forcing us to slow down and pace ourselves with the liturgy leaders. The liturgies themselves today modeled how to find sabbath, how to make room in our words and worship. We would love to hear what you did with your Sabbath today. How did you make space, or escape unto Jesus?

Photo credit:  Jennifer Andrews-Weckerly; reuse with permission only

On Liturgy, Love, and the Lord…

Tags

communion, community, Episcopal Church, Eucharist, God, instructed, liturgy, longing, mental, mystery, physical, ritual, spiritual, welcome, wonder

Photo credit:  Hickory Neck Episcopal Church; reuse with permission only.

This past Sunday we celebrated an “Instructed Eucharist,” a worship service in the Episcopal Church narrated to explain how and why we do the things we do in Church.  Though Instructed Eucharists are pretty common in the Episcopal Church, I had never led one myself, and I found I was pretty nervous about how it would go.  I worried the narrative pieces would feel too long and people would start to lose attention.  I worried the worship would feel too disjointed by narration to feel like worship.  I worried the teaching portion would not be particularly meaningful for those gathered.

As in most things, my worries were unfounded.  Many of those gathered shared that the narrative did not make the service too long.  In fact, they were surprised at how seamlessly the narrative flowed, and how engaging the experience was.  Several of those gathered were touched by the parts that are always touching – scripture, music, preaching, the peace, communion, and the dismissal.  And many of those gathered, of all ages, and of all spiritual backgrounds, shared not only did they love the service, but they also learned many new things.

What caught my attention about the feedback was not simply that people liked the experience.  What caught my attention about the feedback was people were excited about worship.  Having learned something about the weekly ritual of worship allowed our worship to shift from the physical (the habits of bowing, kneeling, standing, singing, eating, greeting) to the mental (understanding the theology, history, and spirituality of our worship) to the spiritual (the opening of our bodies and minds creating deeper connection with God).  That kind of excitement is at the heart of what drew most Episcopalians to the Episcopal Church – a ritual that somehow spoke to something deep inside them, and of which they wanted more.  Sometimes that longing could be easily described, but sometimes that longing was too mysterious to capture in words.

If you had that experience this past Sunday, or if you have ever been touched by that mysterious sense of God in the worship within the Episcopal Church, I invite you to share that sense of wonder with someone today.  You may share the first moment you stepped into an Episcopal Church, or a lifetime of practice, or a simple Instructed Eucharist.  Share the wonder and beauty with someone else, and invite them into the same experience that has enlivened your spiritual journey.  And if you have never had that experience in a church before, know you are welcome to join us at Hickory Neck – a place where you can weekly come and participate – whether physically, mentally, or spiritually – in something bigger than yourself, but in something that makes you feel more grounded in yourself – something that allows you to find God within, already there waiting for you, affirmed in the community around you.  You are welcome here.

On Relationships and Lunch…

Tags

collaboration, God, health, inspiration, liturgy, lunch, productivity, reconciliation, relationship, respect, retiree, tedning, transformation

Photo credit:  https://www.lssliving.org/communities/

Today we are hosting our second Retiree Lunch with the Rector at Hickory Neck Episcopal Church.  We kicked off this new event last month.  I threw together the event rather quickly, and expected only 10-15 people to show.  When RSVPs hit 60, I was floored – and ever so grateful for our Parish Life Committee who offered to make some more batches of chili, since my one or two Crock Pots would no longer suffice.  The idea for the lunches came out of my annual review with our Personnel Committee.  They were concerned about longtime and older parishioners feeling a sense of connectivity with me and with one another.  No need for a program, worship service, or class; just some time for all of us to be together.

As I thought about the feedback initially, I was not entirely convinced.  Surely gathering that many people was a lost opportunity for formation or enrichment.  But the more I thought about the feedback, the more I could understand the feedback.  One of the dangers of thinking Sunday worship is sufficient for connectivity is realizing how little personal relationship building happens.  Sure, the liturgy and shared experience of reflecting on scripture and sharing the meal is a central part of shaping our identity.  But the handshake, and the “Everything’s fine!” I get in the receiving line is hardly conducive to relationship building.  Some times you need to just spend time together, and that is what our lunches are trying to do.

I am in the midst of reading Simon Sinek’s Leaders Eat Last.  He argues relationships are core to healthy systems.  Setting visions, doing tasks, and sharing responsibility is great, but in order to get anything done, the members of the system need to be in relationship – to spend time together, simply getting to know each other.  He uses the example of the shift in Congress that happened under Newt Gingrich.  It used to be that Congress members lived in DC, played sports together, ate together, and got to know each other’s families, no matter party differences.  But the shift that happened under Gingrich meant more of a focus on spending time back in the home districts for fundraising.  Once the members weren’t spending time together, they gradually began to be more divided, rallying against “the enemy” – the members of the other party with whom they had little to no relationship.  The absence of relationship led to the absence of collaboration, respect, and productivity – a pattern that continues today.

For some, Retirees with the Rector may feel like a simple lunch.  For me, they feel like a dramatic statement about who and how we are going to be as a community.  We are going to make time to be together – to talk to church members from other services whom we rarely, if ever, see.  We are going to sit with parishioners who have very different political opinions from us and talk about the awesome apple pie someone made.  We are going to share stories, build camaraderie, and reconnect with who we are.  And hopefully we will find ways to take that model beyond our doors.

Who do you need to have lunch with today?  What relationships need tending, conversations need to be had, and laughter needs to be shared?  I suspect that that when we gather with others, with the sole intention of relating, we might find that God is working among us for transformation, reconciliation, and inspiration!

A Gift from the Church…

Tags

Christ, church, diversity, Easter, gift, God, Holy Week, Jesus, liturgy, music, pilgrimage, powerful, variety, worship

Photo credit:  https://blueeyedennis-siempre.blogspot.com/2011/04/update-holy-week-poems.html

As a former United Methodist and preacher’s kid turned Episcopal priest, I have a pretty wide range of what I find liturgically inspiring.  I was raised on what I would call the “Ol’ Timey Hymns,” I discovered praise and guitar music in college, I found the joy of call-and-response preaching and participatory music at a primarily African-American church where I was a member, I discovered Anglican choral music at the Cathedral that sponsored me for ordination, I was immersed in “high church” worship during seminary where my alb constantly smelled like incense, I discovered the joys of a paid professional choir who could chant choral matins, and I have served in churches with praise bands.  I have been known to crank up the gospel channel on Sunday mornings on my way to church before listening to traditional chant during the services later that morning.

So imagine my joy when I found a church that seemed to capture a good portion of the variety and breadth of my own liturgical experience.  The diversity of worship at Hickory Neck reveals an embarrassment of riches.  We are so blessed with a variety of liturgical and music leaders that I still do not have a favorite service.  Of course, fitting that diversity into one Sunday can be tricky.  That is one of the millions of reasons why I love Holy Week so much, especially at Hickory Neck!  Over the course of a week, we celebrate Palm Sunday, we lead a quiet compline digitally via Facebook live, our Praise Band leads us in a contemplative Taize service, our Congregational Choir and local ecumenical clergy lead us in a healing service, our Choral Scholars lead us in a beautiful foot washing and altar-stripping service, we retreat into quiet on Good Friday midday, but then our youth lead us in a powerful Stations of the Cross service that night, our liturgical team puts together an amazing Easter Vigil, and then the brass rings in Easter Sunday.  In one week, we get the fullness of Hickory Neck on dazzling display.

I do not know what life is like for you these days.  But if you are in the position to give yourself the gift of Holy Week, I highly recommend it.  The full experience allows you to create a sort of pilgrimage, and certainly makes Easter Day a much more powerful experience.  But even if you can only catch a few services, realize that each night’s service is like a carefully crafted gift, meant to create an encounter between you and our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.  Even if you have been feeling distant from God lately, I know most churches are happy to have you slip into a back pew, take in what you need, and slip back out into the world.  Lord knows I have sometimes showed up at the doors of a church not entirely sure why I was there, but left knowing exactly why the Holy Spirit had drawn me there.  If you do not have a church home and want to join us in the feast of Holy Week, you have a church home at Hickory Neck.  If you are reading from further away, I hope you will share with me your experiences this coming Holy Week.

On Remembering You Are Dust…

Tags

ash, Ash Wednesday, church, community, failure, gift, God, Lent, liturgy, mortality, vulnerable

Photo credit:  http://www.churchofoursaviour.org/church-events/2018/2/14/ash-wednesday-services

As a priest, I find Ash Wednesday to be the most difficult celebration of the Church.  One might think funerals are harder; but by the time we get to a funeral, the loss has already happened, and the people are gathered for a celebration of life and resurrection.  But Ash Wednesday is much more challenging.  The liturgy is the most honest, vulnerable, and sobering of our liturgies.  We gather in community, stripping away all appearances of success, faithfulness, and achievement, and we confess our deepest failures and separation from God – as if standing naked before our Lord.  And then, a priest rubs gritty ash upon our foreheads, and tells us, “Remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”

As someone who has experienced the worship from the pews, I know how powerful the liturgy is.  It’s as if the Church says to us, “I know everyone out there thinks you have it all together.  But we both know the truth – that you have a long way to go before you have it all together.  They see your strength and power; I see your weakness and vulnerability.”  The intimacy of the liturgy, experienced within a community of people going through the same exposure, can be both unnerving and deeply comforting.  Out in the world, we are alone, trying to prove ourselves.  Inside the church walls, we are together, admitting we cannot prove ourselves.

As a priest, I have the privilege of guiding people through that powerful experience.  It is so powerful, that I sometimes struggle to perform the actions the liturgy.  As I say those words, “Remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return,” I know that I am saying those words to a preschooler, who does not fully understand death; to a woman who has battled breast cancer and is in remission; to an elderly man who may be closer to death than we want to admit; to a widow or widower who lost their spouse earlier in life than they should have.  The weight of that pronouncement is palpable every single time I say it – and it makes my own mortality that much more real.

If you have not yet received ashes today, I encourage you find a church or Ashes-to-Go station.  It is a tremendous gift to be seen as you truly are, and to kneel alongside others who are trying to be faithful to the charge God has given us.  And if you cannot make it today, know that the entire season of Lent is available to you to continue the journey of remembering you are dust, and finding purpose before you return to that dust.

On Sacred Snippets…

Tags

balance, chaos, God, goodness, holy, Lent, lenten discipline, liturgy, prayer, sacred, sinfulness

Photo credit:  https://prayerbookguide.wordpress.com/living-the-season/lent/

I know many Christians who loathe the season of Lent.  They find the season to be heavy-handed, to be too somber and full of self-loathing, and to be a bit of a downer.  I am not one of those Christians.  Lent is probably my favorite season of the Church Year.  There is an honesty about Lent that feels more authentic to me.  I feel like we do not have to pretend in Lent – pretend to be happy, pretend to have our lives together, pretend to be perfect.  Instead, Lent feels like a great equalizer – a time when we all confess our utter inability to live the lives we intend, and our utter dependence upon God.  Add on top of that intentional disciplines, liturgies that articulate the tension of our sinfulness and goodness, and additional church programming, and I come alive during Lent.

But this year, I have been struggling a bit with Lent.  I have gone through all the motions of Lent:  I am reading a book with a study group, I am playing Lent Madness with my oldest child, and I am attending a weekly ecumenical worship service and fellowship gathering.  I have also worked with our liturgical team to change up the liturgies to make them just different enough to shake up the senses.  I am helping teach a bible study in preparation for Holy Week.  I participated in the winter emergency shelter our church hosted last week.  The Lenten “wheels” are all in motion.  But I find this year that I am having a difficult time getting my Lenten grounding.

Now, it could be that my family has been in and out illness over the past month.  It could be that the church schedule has been particularly full, leaving me working most Saturdays this past month.  It could be that I’m still adjusting to my first full year at Hickory Neck, not having shaped a Lenten season here yet.  Whatever is going on, I was gently reminded by my Spiritual Director once that there is no wrong or right prayer life.  Our prayer life is a reflection of the rest of our life.  The Director told me that it was no wonder that my prayers were happening on the go much of the time – because juggling a family of four and a parish means that prayers happen with the rest of life.  In fact, it is unlikely that I will have an hour of prayer time every morning – because balance means finding varied ways to pray in various stages of life.

Remembering that instruction, I have been shifting my expectation of Lent this year.  Since there is little likelihood that Lent will slow down, I am trying to catch meaningful moments as they fly by.  Like how my seven-year old demands that she be allowed to go to Ash Wednesday services to get her ashes or how she begsto go to the winter shelter one more time.  Like how a parishioner calls between drop-offs to talk about navigating the faithful raising of children.  Like how the Great Litany shakes me to my core.  Like how a sermon I prepared speaks to me on a totally different level as I am preaching it.  Like how a conversation with a parishioner reminds me of the powerful ways we are living into God’s call to respect the dignity of every human being.  I may not be finding long periods of silence, setting apart times of dutiful Lenten practices, or mastering a Zen-like experience at church.  But holiness is happening all around me.  My hope now is to savor each moment for just a bit longer, honoring the holy moments God throws my way in the midst of a chaotic season of life.

On Traditions and Routine…

Tags

Advent, church, comfort, identity, liturgy, power, routine, tradition

Photo credit:  https://scpeanutgallery.com/2013/12/01/1st-sunday-in-advent-isaiah-21-5-psalm-122-romans-1311-14-matthew-2436-44-suddenly-out-of-zion/

As I began personal preparations for Advent this year, I began to wonder if a change was in order.  The last few years, our family has used the same Advent calendar.  It has wonderful daily devotions, and fun, pop-out depictions to coordinate with each day.  It has suggested ways to pray as a family and how to make Advent through Epiphany Day meaningful.  But I wondered if my family was boring of the same old tradition, so I started to think about alternatives.  Right as I prepared to place my order, I mentioned something about the order to my husband.  My seven-year old immediately chimed in, “We’re getting the same calendar, right?!?  I want to do the devotions.”  Shocked by her commitment, I went back to the old order, and ordered a new calendar right away.

Just this past weekend we purchased our annual live tree.  Though I knew I had a day or two to let the tree settle, my husband was anxious for me to get the lights and ornaments on and to unpack our Christmas decorations.  I, on the other hand, was not as enthusiastic about the work it would entail.  As soon as my daughter heard that I would be unpacking ornaments, she begged to help, even though it was a school night.  So, we turned on the Christmas music and got to work.  Her enthusiasm was contagious.  As she unpacked various ornaments, she would declare, with glee, “I remember this one!!!”  She eagerly reminded me of how we strategically place delicate ornaments up high, out of reach of her younger sister.  She also worked to place all the ornaments that make noise down low so her sister could enjoy them too.  As I watched her revel in reliving Christmases of years past, I was flooded with memories of a similar routine with my own mother.

My interactions with my daughter this year have reminded me of why being a part of a liturgical church is so special.  Though “routine,” or tradition, may sound boring to some, the routine of liturgy is a tremendous source of comfort and belonging to those who participate.  Every Advent we hear of Isaiah, John the Baptist, and Mary the Mother of God.  Every Christmas we retell the Lukan nativity narrative.  Year after year, the pattern of the liturgical calendar, the repeating of holy scripture, and the weekly practice of Eucharist are our routine – our tradition.  Though we always want to keep church fresh and relevant, the routine is what grounds us.  The routine brings us comfort.  The routine gives us a sense of identity.

I am especially grateful for that grounding in identity this year.  In a year of political upheaval, of community and country divisions, and of raised awareness to the phobias and “isms” of our time, I am grateful for a liturgical pattern that reminds me of who I am, what is important, and what brings us peace.  Though I am always excited to try new experiments, I am reminded this Advent of the power of tradition – and it is anything but routine!

On Saints, Elections, and God…

Tags

altar, church, election, God, liturgy, messiness, saints, worship

This past Sunday, I got to try on one of Hickory Neck’s traditions.  For the past several years, every All Saints Sunday, the congregation has been invited to tie a ribbon on the altar rail in honor of saints who have gone before.  To be honest, before our liturgies started, I was not sure how the liturgical action would go.  I had imagined all sorts of reasons it might be awkward:  I didn’t think our early, reserved worshipers would be that interested; I worried that the ribbons would be messy, making communion at the rail difficult; I wondered if the symbolism would work in our space.  Happily, I was wrong on all accounts.

Instead, the liturgical symbolism was potent.  As I watched countless people kneel at the rail, tying on the ribbons, many with tears streaming down their faces, I realized how easy it is for me to forget the pain of grief that people struggle with every day.  When we see a well-dressed person at church on Sunday, we forget that there is a unique, sometimes painful story underneath appearances.  As I looked at ribbons draped on the altar rail, I imagined the bodies of the saints, draped on the entrance of the heavenly banquet, having given their lives to love and witness.  As my mind struggled with the messiness of the rail, my heart could see the messiness of life, clinging to the very altar where we kneel not just for solace and pardon, but for strength and renewal.  The liturgical action created a beautiful moment that was overwhelmingly powerful.

Today, I woke up to the news of election returns. Being a pastor of a diverse congregation, I know there are hearts that are relieved, hearts that are satisfied, and hearts that are saddened, fearful, and disappointed.  As I process that reality today, I am reminded of those ribbons, dripping from the altar of church.  I am reminded of the saints that have gone before, who have waded through their own times of conflict.  I am reminded of the fact that on Sunday, each worshiper will be bringing a story to the altar that I will never know fully.  I am reminded of the fact that our church offers a rail where we all kneel or stand, in all of life’s messiness, longing for something bigger and with greater meaning than we can give each other in our limited humanity.

As I got ready for the day this morning, my two-year old sat in the floor of our bedroom with some books.  I was still processing that image of All Saints Day when I heard her singing from one of her books.  “He’s got my brothers and my sisters in his hands…he’s got the whole world in his hands.”  Her sweet voice brought me to tears as I realized the deep wisdom in her, perhaps unintended, words.  In this messiness of life, there will be days that are really complicated, confusing, and hard.  But as a person of faith, I also trust that the Lord our God is holding us in God’s hands, tending not just to me, but to my brothers and my sisters.  For today, that is all I can ask for.

Photo credit:  He’s Got the Whole World in His Hands, Kadir Nelson.  Photo found at http://www.walkingbytheway.com/blog/picture-books-for-transracial-adoptive-families/

Sermon – Luke 22.14-23.56, PS, YC, March 20, 2016

Tags

burden, church, depravity, Easter, failure, gift, gratitude, Holy Week, Jesus, liturgy, Palm Sunday, profound, release, Sermon, sin

What strikes me this year about the passion narrative is the profound depth of failure.  We start off today with the glorious action of waving palms and declaring Christ to be the King, only to betray him and to deny that truth over and over again.  Judas, one of Jesus’ faithful disciples, fails Jesus by betraying him to the authorities.  The disciples fail Jesus by getting caught up in an argument about whom among them is the greatest – a self-centered argument on the best of days, but an utter failure of focus on Jesus’ last day.  Later the disciples fail Jesus by falling asleep while he prays in Gethsemane – when he had specifically pleaded with them to pray with him.  One of the disciples fails as he resorts to violence, striking one of the slaves of the high priest.  Peter, one of Jesus’ most loyal and insightful disciples, three times denies having known Jesus before others.  The leadership of the faithful fail over and over as they insist on Jesus’ death out of fear.  Pilate tries three times to release Jesus but succumbs to peer pressure and has Jesus killed despite the fact that he knows Jesus is innocent.  All the people gathered are willing to release a known murderer and insurrectionist in order to kill innocent Jesus.  Hanging in death, one of the two criminals by Jesus’ side derides Jesus to the end.  Even the soldiers mock Jesus as he hangs helplessly approaching death.

Jesus’ death on the cross is a grave enough sin to mourn today.  But when that sin is preceded by failure after failure after failure of the people to right their relationship with God, we see more clearly the deep recesses of human depravity.  The staggeringly long list of sins would be easy enough for us to dismiss as “those peoples’ sin.”  But that is part of the reason that we participate so tangibly in the liturgy today: waving palms, reading parts of the passion narrative, shouting “crucify him!”  We play an active role in the liturgy today so that we can understand how active our role is in the same sin of “those people.”  Listening to the story is heartbreaking – not just because watching others sin is hard to do, but also because we see ourselves in their sinfulness.  We know their failures because we fail too. We fail to honor Christ in our own day, we deny our Lord, we betray our God, we fail to be faithful disciples.[i]  Though there is a part of us that wants to claim we would never have been bystanders or participants in Jesus’ death, the scary reality is that we know we would have.[ii]  Their failure is our failure.

Acknowledging our utter depravity is important today.  We have spent the last six weeks pondering our sinfulness and working on amendment of life.  But perhaps we can never truly amend our lives without recognizing how deeply our sinfulness goes.  Our Lenten disciplines are meant to help us focus on one specific area of life that needs amendment, and in that way, our disciplines are effective means of bringing us closer to God.  But today, the Church reminds us that we have so much further to go.  Even if we managed to see amendment of life this Lent, today we are reminded of how our very nature is one of repetitious sinfulness that knows no bounds.

So why does the Church have us wallow so deeply in our sin today?  The primary reason we journey through the dark tunnel of our sinfulness and failures is so that we can more fully appreciate the enormity of next week.  Next week, our tone and content is almost the opposite – total joy and jubilation that our Lord is risen from the dead.  But in case we were tempted to become jaded by Easter – to be distracted by our new suits and dresses, the festive songs and flowers, or the bountiful meals – the Church wants us to remember how profoundly full of blessing Easter is.  The profound depth of our sinfulness is matched by the profound depth of love and forgiveness offered in Christ’s resurrection next week.  So although the depravity of this day may feel like overkill, that overkill is necessary for us to understand the shocking gift of Christ’s resurrection.  Although today’s sense of failure may feel overwhelming, I invite you to absorb the sobering reality of this day.  Carry that weight with you this week as we journey through the Holy Days.  If you are able to do that, the release of that burden on Easter Day may be more profound than any of the surface trappings of Easter.  And your cries of rejoicing will be born out of a place of deep gratitude and appreciation for the Lord our God, who loves us despite our failings.  As a people who know how little we deserve our Lord, we will rejoice with newfound appreciation of the God of love – the God who gave his only begotten Son, so that all that believe in him might have eternal life:  a tremendous gift indeed!  Amen.

[i] William G. Carter, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Year C, Vol. 2 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 182.

[ii] H. Stephen Shoemaker, “Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Year C, Vol. 2 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 181.