On the Trinity

Yesterday the Lutheran ministers of our region gathered at the church for our regional meeting. We renewed our ministry vows and shared Holy Communion. After this, we had "holy conversation" about our call to the ministry--when it began, how it developed, etc.

Without going into the long details of my call to ministry, I recalled to the group that I had no intention of being a pastor, of ever being in the pulpit.  I wanted to ask questions as a teacher of theology, not presume to answer them. And, so, my rude awakening to my "call" to ministry began with preaching my first sermon on Trinity Sunday. Yes, God definitely has a sense of humor.

I had long since taught that the theological concept of the Trinity is a mystery that cannot be grasped or pinned down, cannot be encapsulated in words or formulas. The reality of Trinity is that it can be experienced, embraced, and enjoyed. This is hard for many to hear because we struggle with the three-in-one reality just as I struggled to say something meaningful in that first sermon.  

Yet, an engagement with the Trinity can also unfold itself gently to us as it dissolves our fears. Trying to pin the concept of Trinity in words will only entangle us in confusion. That’s why the Triune God revealed God’s self to us not in words but in a person, the person of Jesus.

Jesus, the Word of God made flesh, is God’s love letter to humanity. When humanity was confused about who God is and what God requires, Jesus clarified our vision with the revelation that God is Love and Light.

In Jesus' life he healed the brokenness of our bodies and our societies by embracing the marginalized and pulling them in from the margins. In his death he became the magnetic target of all our hatred, pulling our violence, our sin, onto himself so we would not direct it at each other. In his resurrection he proved that love triumphs over hate. In all of this, Jesus revealed to us a power previously unknown and thus redefined God in our understanding. 

The understanding of the Trinity came about over time as the life and meaning of Jesus not only reshaped our perception of God but drew us deeper into relationship with God. Jesus’s perfect love cast out all fear and showed us that fear has no place within God. Jesus’s revelation that God is Love is the key to entering into the mystery of the Trinity.

The love that Jesus extended to the world, to reveal the true nature of God, ever flows between God the Father and God the Son and God the Spirit. From the beginning of time, Love has been dancing in perfect harmony, leaving stars and planets in its footsteps. We who have been made from Love in the image of Love are called to join in the dance.

This may seem like a poetic fantasy. But it is the clearest way for me to understand the Trinity, to understand Love, to understand God – and the clearest way to understand what it means to be human. While I have a single body, my identity is bound up in my relationships. I am not Joy without my husband, without my children (present and deceased), without my family, without the dear friends who have made me who I am. I am not me without you. To be human is to be in relationship, and it is to be made in the image of God, who is relationship.

In Lent we confess that we are being molded by God into God’s image, following Jesus who modeled for us the perfect relationship with Love and showed us how to extend the love we receive in ever-flowing abundance to a hurting world. It is my deepest hope that we experience this Love as we enter in to Holy Week: not to re-enact a story with an unfamiliar ending, but to live into the Resurrection reality happening every day among us.

A prayer from Walter Brueggemann:

We name you wind, power, force, and then,

imaginatively, "Third Person."

We name you and you blow...

blow hard,

blow cold,

blow hot,

blow strong,

blow gentle,

blow new...

Blowing the world out of nothing to abundance,

blowing the church out of despair to new life,

blowing little David from shepherd boy to messiah,

blowing to make things new that never were.

So blow this day, wind,

blow here and there, power,

blow even us, force,

Rush us beyond ourselves, 

Rush us beyond our hopes,

Rush us beyond our fears, 

until we enact your newness in the world.

Come, come spirit.

Amen.

Giving and Engaging

"The Good Samaritan." It is a parable we've heard many times. It would have been shocking to first century Jewish ears to hear "good" combined with "samaritan." The social outcast, the pariah, is the only one who stops to render aid to an injured man. Religious authorities pass by without a glance.  

This phenomenon has sadly been acted out in many ways time and again; we typically call it the bystander effect.  I recall the famous experiment with seminarians who were released from class late to get to their preaching class (all were supposed to be preaching on the text of the Good Samaritan.)  Every one of them passed a person in need of aid and didn't even stop. The researchers concluded that our level of "hurriedness" makes us less available to render help to each other.

I've seen this situation acted out many times (the bystander effect and the lack of acting as a Good Samaritan) in my own life. It makes me wonder to what extend we are paralyzed by our social/cultural norms, paralyzed by fear of giving and being vulnerable. 

There is a fancy Greek word perichoresis which describes the relationship of God, Christ, Holy Spirit as mutuality and equality, a creative energy that literally dances forth (it is where we get the word, choreography).  Theologians have used this concept to teach how the Trinity relates and how we are to interact with one another: putting aside our power structures, especially in helping one another, we are called to foster mutuality and relationship over a benefactor/receiver type of relationship which has an inherently unequal cast to it.  

Granted, this is a little lofty in thought.  But, what if we thought of each other with this regard?  What if we humbled ourselves enough to realize that whomever we are "helping" may have some way of helping us in return? What if in reality we are more needy than they are? What if we allowed a give and take in the relationship beyond just handing off money or provision?

In Jewish circles the word for charity is tzedakah.  It is tied to the Hebrew word for righteousness.  It is a sacred duty and obligation to engage in tzedakah. What would our lives look like if we acted in this sphere of social justice more often? Beyond just aiding those in need, what if we recognized a responsibility for the well being of the other person: that whatever aid is rendered must help the person become more independent, more whole.

I think we would do well to heed the balance inherent in perichoresis and tzedakah.  How often do we rob people of their independence? How often do we settle for mailing a donation instead of engaging in relationship? Are we Samaritans?  Enablers? Benefactors? Or faithful people trying to live in a sense of gratitude, righteousness, and hospitable living?

On this balance beam is radical kindness and lavish giving mixed with common sense respect, tough love and the call of each person to live a productive, responsible life.  We do not always strike this balance well, especially in our churches and in our own wounded lives. If we are not to be defined by our seating capacity in our churches, but by our sending capacity, what difference will that make in our community? Will I choose to walk by in my hurried state or will I take the time to stop, look, listen, and engage?

Who is my neighbor? You are. We are. Everyone. Will I open my heart to this reality?  Yes, and I ask God to help me.

A prayer from Walter Brueggemann:

We regularly say:

"We proclaim the Lord's death until he comes."

In our primitiveness, we do not doubt your coming,

soon, powerfully, decisively.

In our settledness, your coming is not too urgent or real,

because we are venously entitled, privileged, protected, gated.

In our rationality, the "until" of your coming makes 

little sense to us, so we mumble and hope no one notices.

In these last days,

In these latter days,

In these final days,

In these very late days,

We draw closer to your promised "until."

We draw closer in fear,

in hope,

in gladness,

in dread.

So we do proclaim the Lord's death until he comes,

until he comes in peace against all our violence;

until he comes in generosity midst all our parsimony;

until he comes in food midst all our hunger;

until he comes in community midst all our alienation.

We are your faithful hopers,

distracted by despair, but hoping,

distracted by affluence, but hoping,

distracted by sophistication, but hoping.

Come soon, come Lord Jesus, come soon

while we face afresh your death,

until you come soon and again...again and soon.

Amen.

On Shame

Most people I talk to on a daily basis understand that God loves them. They can quote the Bible verses. But many seem to live with a secret sense of shame that complicates, if not blocks, God’s love because they don’t think they deserve it. In their mind God’s love is for people who have cleaned up their act.

But there’s an inherent problem to this kind of thinking: you can’t clean up your act without God’s love. If you insist on becoming a better person so God can love you, that “carrot” will always be in front of you. You’ll never get there. You’ve consigned yourself to your own personal “hell,” but you don’t even know what you’ve done because you think you know all about God’s love.

Yes, we know about it. Maybe we haven’t received it. As we all affirm regularly, we need to let the knowledge drop from our head to our hearts in order to bring the healing that’s needed.

The issue it seems is that we receive God’s love on our good days, when we are doing well. But we don’t receive God’s love when we need it the most; when we screw up and fail miserably. We resist the invasion of God’s love because we don’t think God wants to/ or is able to come into our unholy place.

I mention this because we all tend to beat ourselves up over failures and then become stuck there. But if we want to find the freedom that God has for us, we have to be open to love and forgiveness. Just think whom you might become if you loved yourself like God does?

You might find this hard to believe, but the Bible tells us and Lent leads us to the recognition that when you and I go astray, God’s first priority isn’t to get our behavior in line. God’s first priority is to reestablish our relationship with Him. God’s love draws us to Him, not our good behavior.

God knows that if He can help restore our relationship that our behavior will eventually follow. But if He/we focus on our behavior, our shame will push us away. It’s counterproductive.

We read the story of the prodigal son a week or so ago; the son that ran away from home to live the party life only to return home when his money ran out.

The shock of that story is the boy didn’t return to an angry dad who punished him for his behavior like you’d expect. The boy returned to a dad that met him at the gate of the city with a hug and a kiss and a ring and a cloak and then threw a party for him.

Jesus used that story to teach us how God thinks about sin and guilt, even shame. Most dads wouldn’t welcome home their runaway son with a party! But God isn’t like that. God is much more interested in our relationship than in exacting perfection of behavior. That doesn’t mean that God doesn’t care about rules/commands/covenant.  It appears, however, in watching Jesus in the Gospels, that relationship always comes first.

…come boldly to the throne of our gracious God. There we will receive his mercy, and we will find grace to help us when we need it. (Hebrews 4:16)

A prayer from Walter Brueggemann:

You are the God from whom no secret can be hid,

and we are a people with many secrets,

that we want to tell for the sake of our lives,

that we dare not tell because they are deep and painful.

But they are our secrets...and they count for much;

they are our truth...rooted deep in our lives.

You are the God of all truth,

and now we bid you heed our truth,

about which we will not bear false witness...

The truth of grief unresolved,

the truth of pain unacknowledged,

the truth of fear too child-like,

the truth of hate, as powerful as it is deep,

the truth of being taken advantage of,

and being used,

and manipulated,

and slandered.

We trust the great truth of your wondrous love,

but we will not sit still for it,

UNTIL you hear us.

Our truth--heard by you--will make us free.

So be the God of all truth, even ours,

we pray in the name of Jesus,

who is your best kept secret of hurt.

Amen.

On the Shadow

Roy and I had an interesting conversation yesterday about our struggle with sin, the struggle with the darker aspects of our personalities.  

"The shadow,’’ wrote Carl Jung, is ‘‘that hidden, repressed, for the most part inferior and guilt-laden personality whose ultimate ramifications reach back into the realm of our ancestors and so comprise the whole historical aspect of the unconscious." The shadow is a primordial part of our human inheritance, which, try as we might, can never be eluded. 

The pervasive defense mechanism known as projection is how most people deny their shadow, unconsciously casting it onto others so as to avoid confronting it in oneself. Such projection of the shadow is engaged in not only by individuals but groups, religions, and entire countries, whereby the outsider, enemy or adversary is made a scapegoat, dehumanized, and demonized.

The shadow, is not meant to be taken literally but allegorically. It is not an evil entity existing apart from the person, nor an invading alien force, though it may be felt as such. The shadow is a universal feature of the human psyche for which we bear full responsibility to cope with as creatively as possible. Failing to deal with our shadow side, or proclivity to sin, will create a life that nurtures unhealthy attitudes and communal dysfunction.

What is the dark side? In my opinion, insecurity is at the heart of the dark side. Insecurity feeds all kinds of dysfunction. I’ve seen too many people use their position or leadership to find healing for their insecurity. In their mind, if people will follow them, it will prove to themselves and others that they are valuable. Most leaders would never admit this is their motivation to lead. And honestly, they probably don’t see it. But it’s there. And it’s destructive. 

This is a danger in any helping field, yes in churches, where wounded people seek to help others as a way to help themselves. I think Lent gives us the gift of wandering in the wilderness and the opportunity to get really honest about our motivations as we seek to live and be like Jesus.

Upon pondering this issue further, I think what happened in the Garden of Eden can be also referred to as "Original Insecurity." After all, insecurity will make you:

Competitive: you need to show others that you are better than they are.

Jealous: you constantly compare your life to others you consider more successful.

Ungrateful: focusing on what others have causes you to hold what you have in contempt.

Defensive: when people try to correct you, you are quick to offer excuses in fear of being exposed in your weakness.

Argumentative: defending yourself isn’t enough. You feel the need to go on the offensive.

Risk Averse: afraid that a challenge will expose your weakness, you play it safe.

Over Confident: in need of affirmation, you take unnecessary risks.

Unforgiving: easily hurt, you find it hard to “turn the other cheek” to your critics and brood.

Legalistic: because you never measure up in your mind, you make it hard for others to measure up to your standards.

Think Scarcity: not abundance. The insecure person lives in a small world where there is never enough to go around. It feels like the sky is falling.

No fun: when you are trying to justify your existence every day, life gets pretty serious. People around you walk on eggshells because they realize how fragile you are.

Toxic: add up all of the above and who wants to be around that? 

On the other hand, when we get honest with ourselves, when we find wholeness in Christ, when we repent and give our lives to Jesus, it breeds a culture of grace. No topic is out of bounds. Mistakes are forgiven, not punished. Freedom is in the air, along with a “can do” attitude. And then it can be a joyful experience to “be church” and to live abundant life together!

A prayer from Walter Brueggemann:

Power turns and postures and exhibits.

It controls and manages and plots.

We participate in it,

we benefit from it,

we are dazzled by it...and more than a little afraid.

Just underneath, all the while...

Just underneath dazzling power

sits violence and brutality,

greed and fear and envy,

cunning and shamelessness.

In that too we participate.

Like the ancients, we also live double lives,

public in pageant and role and office,

hidden in meanness and thinness.

We do not do well at bringing this double together.

But we confess you to be Lord of all of our lives.

Give us new freedom about our public lives,

give us new candor about our hidden lives,

Correct what is brutal and greedy and fearful,

chasten what is hidden and mean.

Make us women and men of shalom,

the kind of welfare you will for our common life.

Amen.

God's Kingdom

In our big celebration last week, Bishop Kendrick referred to both God's Kingdom and God's dream. The dream was tied to Jesus' prayer that we might be one, that is joined in unity rather than disunity.  And though we talk about God's Kingdom all the time, I wonder how much we really know about it or are willing to live into it these days?

This question almost always spurns me toward a future oriented glance and answer--just what does God's Kingdom look like? But, I don't think that is the proper orientation.  What is it about our faith life that always has us focusing on "tomorrow" rather than today? Why do we so easily put our eggs in a heavenly reward while ignoring the opportunities of today, right now?

In counter-intuitive fashion, the answer to this question is the Kingdom of God is like a mustard seed and baking yeast.  Both start small and are part of transforming ordinary elements into a great yield. We are meant then to look at our own lives: are we willing to be faithful in the small things so that greater yields may come from our actions?

Martin Luther used the image of two Kingdoms for God's reign: the earthly kingdom of governmental authorities and the heavenly kingdom where the faithful become part of transforming the world. Most of us no longer face a backlash against practicing our faith while being dutiful citizens of this world. But, it does the leave me wondering which world I am most comfortably nestled in:  civic affairs and politics or the unfolding of God's kingdom in grace?

When I asked my husband what he thinks of when he hears the phrase "Kingdom of God" he said "heaven." Yet, in scripture I hear Jesus saying time and again: the Kingdom is with you, now.  Is the Kingdom of God different then the Kingdom of Heaven?  Scripture scholars have made loose distinctions between a millennial kingdom (a future oriented reality) and a universal kingdom (present reality) but the terms seem to be used equally, interchangeably by Mark and Luke.  Matthew is the only writer to use the term "kingdom of heaven." (Kingdom of God occurs 68 times in many New Testament books while Kingdom of Heaven only occurs in Matthew, 32 times).

So, if the Kingdom of God is like a mustard seed, yeast, even justice, then what are we to do with these images?  What do they imply for our lives today?  

If I am actively engaged in being a part of God's Kingdom, then my actions will convey the change I wish to see in the world.  Instead of a far away ethereal heaven, I now have a charge, a sacred duty, an honored mission to seek in my corner of the world.  I think this is a radical change for the way Christianity has traditionally groomed its adherents.  Instead of leaning toward a promising future (which will be as God wills it to be in perfection), then why not focus on today, focus on serenity:  God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference!

It seems this Way of the Kingdom of God leads to a wholeness and a life of significance that we crave. Beyond the fear of meaninglessness, the anxiety of our unsettled struggle within ourselves, we have been given the opportunity to be emptied, to be other-oriented, to be the freedom we seek. Will we take part? Will we opt for the familiar and abandon the challenge? Is it too much work? 

What must I do to be open and transformed for a life of significance? What shape must my journey take today to yield Kingdom results? Important questions not only for today, but for who we are, who we hope to be on Easter morning and beyond.

A prayer from Walter Brueggemann:

We yearn, in every season, for your presence;

We know that our hearts will be restless, until they rest in you;

We are like deer who seek a watering hole in the drought;

We hear invitations for "all who are weary and heavy-laden..."

And approach to you seems ready and easy.

Truth to tell, we do pant restlessly,

but not always for you.

Sometimes, instead for security

or sex and beer and sports,

or power and success,

or beauty and acceptance...not seeking you.

Truth to tell, we know you to be no easy mark,

with your rigorous entrance requirements

of blamelessness, truth-telling, no bribes,

and all manner of neighborliness.

We yearn for you in every season,

making you too easy, imagining you too difficult,

bewildered and unsure until you give yourself concretely to us...

as you have done and as you do.

Amen.

Sabbath Keeping

On this fine morning, when we have all presumably "lost" one hour of sleep, I anticipate the turnout at church may be slim. That grieves me as I think we have become accustomed to denying ourselves Sabbath in its truest sense.

Old Testament scholar Walter Bruegemann says that the most important and most difficult of the Ten Commandments to obey is “Remember the sabbath day, and keep it holy."

We are commanded in our faith tradition to rest from work by keeping the sabbath. Some of us remember when stores were closed on Sundays. There is good reason why certain disciplines were practiced around the sabbath. Honoring the sabbath requires setting limits, putting on the brakes, and saying no to constant busyness. 

Why is it so hard for us to live within limits, to say no to more activity? Partly it is the pleasure of saying yes. Saying yes acknowledges that someone wants you—wants to be with you, wants you to do something that you do well, wants to do it with you. We also live in a can-do country, where the ability to do many things at high speed is not only an adaption to our fast-paced culture but the mark of a successful human being. Even though many of us complain about having too much to do, we harbor some pride that we are in such demand. 

The spiritual practice of saying no is difficult to do. 

“No, I want to stay home tonight.”

“No, I have enough work for now.”

“No, I have all the possessions I want to take care of.”

These can sound like death wishes. If there is nothing more you want to do or have, then why go on living? As Barbara Brown Taylor says, if you are going to say no to perfectly good opportunities for adding more to your life, then what is the point? 

The ancient wisdom of the sabbath commandment—and also of the Christian gospel—is that we cannot say yes to God without saying no to God’s rivals. No, I will not earn my way today. No, I will not make anyone else work either. No, I will not worry about my life, what I will eat or what I will drink, or about my body, what I will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing?

The Deuteronomy basis for sabbath-keeping is that our ancestors in Egypt went for 400 years without a vacation (Deuteronomy 5:15). Never a day off. The consequence was that they were no longer considered persons but slaves. As Eugene Peterson notes, they were not people created in the image of God, but equipment for making bricks and building pyramids. Humanity was defaced.

The sabbath restores us to our true selves, valued as human beings made in God’s image and not just for our usefulness, our productivity. The blessing of the sabbath is that it helps us remember that our lives have a focus and meaning larger than day-to-day activity. The sabbath is a time to regain perspective and recognize that God’s goodness permeates all of creation and life.

Jesus taught, “Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.” Doesn’t that sound good to us, who are so weary? 

We find ourselves weary because we are anxious. We are too anxious to rest or take refreshment. We do not trust in the abundance that God has woven into creation. We imagine we know better than God. Brueggemann writes: “We spend ourselves in the futility of trying to take the place of the life-guaranteeing God. We are weary because in the end we can guarantee the life of no one and certainly not the life of the church” 

The sabbath allows us to stop and give thanks, to praise God. When we keep the sabbath we are living outside the “Royal Anxiety System” of Pharoah. We embody an alternative to the plot of scarcity. Trusting in God’s abundance leads to thanksgiving. Thanksgiving leads to freedom to rest and praise God. Praising God leads to remembering that it is God, not we, who is the Source of life. 

Jesus, says Brueggemann, issues an invitation, “Come to me.” It is not an altar call. It is a call to an alternative existence, away from deeds of power, away from quotas, away from things “too great,” away from control and domination and success. Away from the way the world wants us to be. . . . Imagine yourself away from your wisdom, your intelligence, your capability, your drive, your effectiveness, and imagine yourself a good respondent to the one who invites, the one who is gentle and humble in heart. 

There is still a yoke that Jesus invites us to carry, but it is an easy yoke. It is not the yoke of Pharaoh’s bricks or Jewish law or Roman demands or capitalist competition or the Protestant work ethic or constant online access. It is an easy yoke of trusting discipleship. Our life need not be lived as a victim or a perpetrator of always seeking more. We can put on the brakes to anxiety; we have been given the gift of rest and worship.  

May we come to value those gifts all the more in this Lenten season and to cherish the spiritual opportunities they bring.

A prayer from Walter Brueggemann:

You, you and the one we address,

always you,

only you...who has given us life,

who waits for us to answer.

We, toward you, speak and remain tongue-tied,

for we lack words that are honest enough,

and dangerous enough,

and fierce enough to match you.

We do not speak first, but after our mothers and fathers,

who knew cadences of honesty about our troubles,

who knew cadences of danger about your presence,

who knew cadences of fierceness to fit our rage and loss.

So we speak to you words that we have always spoken:

words of praise and adoration:

...into your gates with thanksgiving,

into your courts with praise...

words of confession and remorse:

...against you and only you we have sinned...

words of thanks and astonishment:

...you have turned our mourning into dancing...

words of rage unabated:

...dash their heads against the rocks.

So many words we need to speak

to you from whom no secrets can be hid,

you beyond us, you with us, you for us,

you with ears bent close to our lips,

You...and our woes turned toward you, always you, only you,

yet again you.

Amen.

On Salt and Light

The Gospel often refers to the disciples under the banner of salt and light.  And, as is asked, can salt lose its saltiness? My first response to this question is "yes, of course!"  Many times have I felt dulled, lukewarm, mediocre at best only to be revived and restored by grace and mercy.  I suppose it is tempting to be cynical with this question and overly technical--no, salt cannot be restored if it has lost its saltiness, if it is bad then it should be thrown out.

I am reminded of all the superstitious legends regarding salt.  The stories actually go back to biblical times when salt was a highly prized commodity.  It was often used in place of money--it was the currency of the day.  People used to throw salt over their shoulder in an effort to "keep the devil at bay" while they were feeling vulnerable.  The story goes that the salt will either blind the devil or keep him from sneaking up on you. And, of course, the salt is to be thrown over the left shoulder because many traditions place the devil to the "left" of the straight and narrow path, the Way.  Of course, to truly follow the letter of the law, you should throw the salt with your right hand as the right was associated with good and the left with evil.  

So, I can appreciate the link between salt and the word salary.  To "be worth your salt" brings on a whole new meaning.  I think we are inherently intrigued by those people who maintain their saltiness in life through the good times and bad.  We often want to know their secret as we plod along dealing with our own insecurities and lack of motivation.  When we truly see, there is an air of saltiness all around us in the light, in seeing the divine in the dapples of creation.  

In a different way, for those who have ever struggled with a low-sodium diet, you come to appreciate and respect the role of salt in our diets and in our bodies.  As a runner, I am keenly aware of the delicate balance between sodium, potassium, and magnesium. While we think of saltiness in terms of boldness, there is also a fragility that comes with it.  Too much can kill us just as too little can.

I learned very early in my son's life that he would be drawn to salty foods over sweet foods.  And, that preference is fine so long as it is held in balance.  So often we lean toward elements that bring about saltiness while forgetting the author of true saltiness in our lives. There are no earthly elements which can preserve our souls, restore and recreate us: only a divine source can bring about that wellspring of life.  This is one of the chief reminders of our Lenten journey.

I have been blessed in knowing many salty figures in my life.  And, I restore my own saltiness in my faith family and our corporate acts of worship and fellowship.  There is a joy in that preservation and restoration, true rejoicing when my own decay is transformed into budding new life.  We are ultimately here to serve one another in that restoration; we are not here to horde our saltiness or our light.

How might we share our saltiness and light?  Have we been holding back?  Do we fear that sharing with others will cause scarcity?  Do we prefer some elements of decay to new life?  Is anything impossible for God?  How might our salty veil of tears be lifted to reveal new life this coming Easter?

A prayer from Walter Brueggemann:

This day of dread and betrayal and denial

causes a pause in our busyness.

Who would have thought that you would take

this eight son of Jesse

to become the pivot of hope in our ancient memory?

Who would have thought that you would take

this uncredentialed

Galilean rabbi

to become the pivot of newness in the world?

Who would have thought that you--

God of gods and Lord of lords--

would fasten on such small, innocuous agents

whom the world scorns

to turn creation toward your newness?

As we are dazzled,

give us the freedom to resituate our lives in modest,

uncredentialed, vulnerable places.

We ask for freedom and courage to move out from our nicely

arranged patterns of security

into dangerous places of newness where we fear to go.

Cross us by the cross, that we may be Easter marked.

Amen.