My favourite time of the year is about to begin.
All of Lent is really a preparation for Easter. Starting with Ash Wednesday, we begin the slow walk toward the cross. This year Jan and I spent Ash Wednesday at Holy Trinity Church in Winnipeg, because we were flying in the evening, and St. Margaret's didn't have a morning service. So we spent most of the day with ashen crosses on our foreheads, reminding each other, and maybe other people who saw us of the eventual imminence of the cross--of God's death, and of our own eventual death: "remember, O man/woman that dust you are and to dust you will return".
Throughout Lent we prepare ourselves for Easter, by penitence and fasting, by confession and absolution. We give things up. Part of the effect of this is to increase the anticipation of the feast season of Easter. We count down the days until our fast is ended.
This Sunday was Palm Sunday, and the journey to Golgatha has begun in earnest. On Palm Sunday we celebrate Jesus' triumphant entry into Jerusalem. He comes into the city with cheers and the waving of palm leaves. We commemorate this with palm leaves and palm crosses. The crosses are made from the palm leaves--Jesus' death is made by the instruments of his triumph. And the crowd chanting hosanna is the same crowd that will soon be chanting "crucify".
After Palm Sunday the palm leaves are burned and the ashes are saved to be used in next year's Ash Wednesday.
At the evening service, we had a service of the Seven Last Words of Christ on the Cross. The service revolved around Haydn's instrumental piece, which was played by a string quartet. The seven last words are:
Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do (Luke 23:34).
Truly, I say to you, today you will be with me in paradise (Luke 23:43).
Woman, behold your son: behold your mother (John 19:26-27).
Eli Eli lema sabachthani? ("My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?", Matthew 27:46 and Mark 15:34).
I thirst (John 19:28).
It is finished (John 19:30).
Father, into your hands I commit my spirit (Luke 23:46).
Each bible reading was followed by a movement from Haydn's piece, and three of them were then followed by a meditation from the pulpit.
David spoke about "Father forgive them, for they know not what they do". For most of our lives we do not know what we are doing. In our ignorance, we are active--as the mob was active in its ignorance crucifying Jesus; and Jesus, though knowing, was passive.
Bonnie spoke on "My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?" Christ wails into the darkness--a literal darkness as an eclipse covers the earth, and an existential darkness like the original chaos. All hope of dawn is on a cross.
And finally David spoke on "It is finished." In creation God saw on the sixth day all that he had made, and saw that it was finished. It was finished, but it was not over. The work was finished, and God rested. So on Friday Jesus' work is finished, and on Saturday he rests. The first creation is finished on Friday. Whatever we were doing in our ignorance is finished on Friday. On Saturday all of creation rests, awaiting the new creation on Sunday morning.
Amen.
Showing posts with label Holy Week. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Holy Week. Show all posts
Monday, March 17, 2008
Friday, April 06, 2007
Good Friday
When the Good Friday service begins, the cross is still shrouded and the alter is still stripped. The clergy and lay-readers are still dressed in black.
The service itself, which centered heavily upon the choir, who sang beautifully both American folk songs and pieces from Bach's B Minor mass, including a beautiful aria sung by up-and-coming opera singer Sandra Peters, was moving and sad, beautiful and touching. Interspersed with the choir music, David gave a series of reflections on Jesus' death.
What liturgical Christians need to remember, said David, is that it is not enough to recite the creed. You need a personal relationship with Christ. Do you want to see Jesus? Do you want to look in his face? It is not an easy face to look upon, this time of year. It is a face of suffering and pain. But what we need, if we want to be followers of Christ, is not an explanation, not a theory, not a theology. We need to be in the garden with Christ. We need to walk with him to the cross. And that is what the liturgy provides for us. Through the litugy we are there. We pray with Jesus in the garden, and like his disciples we fall asleep. We abandon him and we deny him, but we are still welcome at the foot of the cross. We witness his suffering and we mourn with the disciples. And we walk with Joseph of Aramethia to the new tomb, and we help to lay Jesus down.
And we wait.
The service itself, which centered heavily upon the choir, who sang beautifully both American folk songs and pieces from Bach's B Minor mass, including a beautiful aria sung by up-and-coming opera singer Sandra Peters, was moving and sad, beautiful and touching. Interspersed with the choir music, David gave a series of reflections on Jesus' death.
What liturgical Christians need to remember, said David, is that it is not enough to recite the creed. You need a personal relationship with Christ. Do you want to see Jesus? Do you want to look in his face? It is not an easy face to look upon, this time of year. It is a face of suffering and pain. But what we need, if we want to be followers of Christ, is not an explanation, not a theory, not a theology. We need to be in the garden with Christ. We need to walk with him to the cross. And that is what the liturgy provides for us. Through the litugy we are there. We pray with Jesus in the garden, and like his disciples we fall asleep. We abandon him and we deny him, but we are still welcome at the foot of the cross. We witness his suffering and we mourn with the disciples. And we walk with Joseph of Aramethia to the new tomb, and we help to lay Jesus down.
And we wait.
Thursday, April 05, 2007
Maundy Thursday
Easter is the holiest time in the Christian year. Easter isn't just a day, it's a season. Starting with Palm Sunday, no service in a Liturgical church ends. All of Holy Week is really one long service, and today was Maundy Thursday.
Maundy Thursday, the comemoration of the Last Supper, and of Jesus washing his disciples' feet, is one of the most moving services in all of the church year. The Bishop of Rupert's Land was at St. Margaret's again this year, and after we read the Gospel telling how Jesus washed his disciples feet and heard a sermon on why Peter didn't want his feet washed--why a salvation that means God serving us is beyond our acceptance, since it means that we can't earn our salvation--the Bishop called members of the congregation who so chose to let him wash their feet.
When the service was all over, the clergy and all the lay-readers took off their albs surpicles and stoles, leaving only a black cassock underneath. They left the bread and the wine on the alter and left it all behind. Like Peter who abandoned and denied Christ, they abandoned their office and they left the body of Christ. Solomnly they walked to the back of the church, and slowly the lights of the sanctuary were turned off. One by one.
In the darkness, a cantor sang Psalm 22:
My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? and are so far from my cry and from the words of my distress?
O my God, I cry in the daytime, but you do not answer; by night as well, but I find no rest.
Yet you are the Holy One, enthroned upon the praises of Israel.
Our forefathers put their trust in you; they trusted, and you delivered them.
They cried out to you and were delivered; they trusted in you and were not put to shame.
But as for me, I am a worm and no man, scorned by all and despised by the people.
All who see me laugh me to scorn; they curl their lips and wag their heads, saying,
"He trusted in the LORD; let him deliver him; let him rescue him, if he delights in him."
Yet you are he who took me out of the womb, and kept me safe upon my mother's breast.
I have been entrusted to you ever since I was born; you were my God when I was still in my mother's womb.
Be not far from me, for trouble is near, and there is none to help.
Many young bulls encircle me; strong bulls of Bashan surround me.
They open wide their jaws at me, like a ravening and a roaring lion.
I am poured out like water;all my bones are out of joint; my heart within my breast is melting wax.
My mouth is dried out like a pot-sherd; my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth; and you have laid me in the dust of the grave.
Packs of dogs close me in,and gangs of evildoers circle around me; they pierce my hands and my feet; I can count all my bones.
They stare and gloat over me; they divide my garments among them; they cast lots for my clothing.
Be not far away, O LORD; you are my strength; hasten to help me.
Save me from the sword, my life from the power of the dog.
Save me from the lion's mouth, my wretched body from the horns of wild bulls.
I will declare your Name to my brethren; in the midst of the congregation I will praise you.
Praise the LORD, you that fear him; stand in awe of him, O offspring of Israel; all you of Jacob's line, give glory.
The black-clad figures walked back up, and piece by piece stripped the alter, and a black shroud was placed over the cross. In the dark and the quiet, we got up and left the church.
We know what will happen next. We feel uneasy and unrestful. And we wait.
Maundy Thursday, the comemoration of the Last Supper, and of Jesus washing his disciples' feet, is one of the most moving services in all of the church year. The Bishop of Rupert's Land was at St. Margaret's again this year, and after we read the Gospel telling how Jesus washed his disciples feet and heard a sermon on why Peter didn't want his feet washed--why a salvation that means God serving us is beyond our acceptance, since it means that we can't earn our salvation--the Bishop called members of the congregation who so chose to let him wash their feet.
When the service was all over, the clergy and all the lay-readers took off their albs surpicles and stoles, leaving only a black cassock underneath. They left the bread and the wine on the alter and left it all behind. Like Peter who abandoned and denied Christ, they abandoned their office and they left the body of Christ. Solomnly they walked to the back of the church, and slowly the lights of the sanctuary were turned off. One by one.
In the darkness, a cantor sang Psalm 22:
My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? and are so far from my cry and from the words of my distress?
O my God, I cry in the daytime, but you do not answer; by night as well, but I find no rest.
Yet you are the Holy One, enthroned upon the praises of Israel.
Our forefathers put their trust in you; they trusted, and you delivered them.
They cried out to you and were delivered; they trusted in you and were not put to shame.
But as for me, I am a worm and no man, scorned by all and despised by the people.
All who see me laugh me to scorn; they curl their lips and wag their heads, saying,
"He trusted in the LORD; let him deliver him; let him rescue him, if he delights in him."
Yet you are he who took me out of the womb, and kept me safe upon my mother's breast.
I have been entrusted to you ever since I was born; you were my God when I was still in my mother's womb.
Be not far from me, for trouble is near, and there is none to help.
Many young bulls encircle me; strong bulls of Bashan surround me.
They open wide their jaws at me, like a ravening and a roaring lion.
I am poured out like water;all my bones are out of joint; my heart within my breast is melting wax.
My mouth is dried out like a pot-sherd; my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth; and you have laid me in the dust of the grave.
Packs of dogs close me in,and gangs of evildoers circle around me; they pierce my hands and my feet; I can count all my bones.
They stare and gloat over me; they divide my garments among them; they cast lots for my clothing.
Be not far away, O LORD; you are my strength; hasten to help me.
Save me from the sword, my life from the power of the dog.
Save me from the lion's mouth, my wretched body from the horns of wild bulls.
I will declare your Name to my brethren; in the midst of the congregation I will praise you.
Praise the LORD, you that fear him; stand in awe of him, O offspring of Israel; all you of Jacob's line, give glory.
The black-clad figures walked back up, and piece by piece stripped the alter, and a black shroud was placed over the cross. In the dark and the quiet, we got up and left the church.
We know what will happen next. We feel uneasy and unrestful. And we wait.
Holy Week
Today was Maundy Thursday. Holy Week has officially begun.
Really it started last Sunday, with Palm Sunday. Our Sunday morning service included children waving palm branches, prancing around the church in excitement.
Palm Sunday is always bitter-sweet. Jesus enters Jerusalem in triumph. The crowd cheers, they wave palm branches, they lay branches and cloaks on the ground for Jesus' colt to ride on, like Sir Walter Raleigh laying his coat in the mud for Queen Elizabeth to step on. Jesus is Lord and King. When people tell him to quiet the crowd he responds "If these were silent, the stones would cry out!" And the people aren't silent. They shout "Hosanna!" They shout "The King!"
But we can never quite forget that the next time we see a crowd shouting at Jesus they are shouting "Crucify him!" How many people were in both of those crowds?
So we celebrate, but when we are done we burn the palm leaves, and save the ashes. We save them for almost a year, until next Ash Wednesday, when the priest spreads them on our foreheads in the shape of a cross and says "Remember O man (or woman) that dust thou art and to dust wilt thou return."
Palm Sunday is always bitter-sweet.
In the evening we celebrated Passion Sunday. A string quartet played Haydn's Seven Last Words of Christ, and our rector David Widdicombe offered a series of meditations on those last words.
Jesus says "Father, forgive them for they know not what they do." This doesn't mean "They don't know, so they shouldn't be held responsible." The ignorance is not the excuse. It's more like someone saying "Forgive them for they robbed my house". "They know not what they do" is why they need forgiveness, not why they deserve it. We are forgiven freely by the grace and love of the suffering God--the God who suffers on our behalf. We don't know what we are doing, but we are forgiven.
Amen.
Really it started last Sunday, with Palm Sunday. Our Sunday morning service included children waving palm branches, prancing around the church in excitement.
Palm Sunday is always bitter-sweet. Jesus enters Jerusalem in triumph. The crowd cheers, they wave palm branches, they lay branches and cloaks on the ground for Jesus' colt to ride on, like Sir Walter Raleigh laying his coat in the mud for Queen Elizabeth to step on. Jesus is Lord and King. When people tell him to quiet the crowd he responds "If these were silent, the stones would cry out!" And the people aren't silent. They shout "Hosanna!" They shout "The King!"
But we can never quite forget that the next time we see a crowd shouting at Jesus they are shouting "Crucify him!" How many people were in both of those crowds?
So we celebrate, but when we are done we burn the palm leaves, and save the ashes. We save them for almost a year, until next Ash Wednesday, when the priest spreads them on our foreheads in the shape of a cross and says "Remember O man (or woman) that dust thou art and to dust wilt thou return."
Palm Sunday is always bitter-sweet.
In the evening we celebrated Passion Sunday. A string quartet played Haydn's Seven Last Words of Christ, and our rector David Widdicombe offered a series of meditations on those last words.
Jesus says "Father, forgive them for they know not what they do." This doesn't mean "They don't know, so they shouldn't be held responsible." The ignorance is not the excuse. It's more like someone saying "Forgive them for they robbed my house". "They know not what they do" is why they need forgiveness, not why they deserve it. We are forgiven freely by the grace and love of the suffering God--the God who suffers on our behalf. We don't know what we are doing, but we are forgiven.
Amen.
Monday, April 17, 2006
Holy Week
This post is really a continuation of this post, (and this one, actually) if anyone cares.
As other people have mentioned, Holy Saturday is a confusing time for the church. My own thoughts on the subject are mostly covered at the end of my first post on Holy Week. I think that there is a terrible tendancy to undermine the solemnity of Holy Saturday and to skip it. It is the whole point, the whole appeal, and the whole power of holy days and festivals that they have a discrete beginning. We cannot, during Holy Saturday, truly forget that we know the story of the resurrection, but we can pretend. And we can respect the sanctity of Easter by waiting until Easter is truly upon us to celebrate.
Jan and I went to two Holy Saturday Easter Vigils. Both were excellent services, but I think neither were sufficiently respectful of the day. More on that later.
The first service was at 5:00pm. It began in darkness in the basement, as candles were lit from a new fire. It was an Easter Vigil, and it was a service of confirmation. Five people were confirmed. Confirmation is a public affirmation of commitment to God, a renewal and personal claiming of the promises made at baptism. It was very exciting. The service itself was joyful and energetic, with more contemporary music than is usual at St. Margaret's. It was a nice change, although I found that the congregation wasn't quite sure how to react to upbeat, uptempo music. The bishop and David tried to get people clapping, but without much success.
The evening service was darker and more sombre. It was also an Easter Vigil, with a service of confirmation. The service was held in darkness, as we waited for the rising of the Lord. When the bishop said "Alleluia, Christ is risen!" and we replied "The Lord is risen indeed, Alleluia" the lights came on in the sanctuary, and it was followed by a singing of Alleluia. It was quite powerful and quite moving.
Both services were excellent. However, the first service was overly joyful for early evening of Holy Saturday. In prempted the rising of Jesus, and celebrated the resurrection while we should still be waiting. The second service was much more appropriate, but it also jumped the gun a little by celebrating the resurrection at about 11:00. Although I can understand the practical reasons why this wasn't the case, I think that ideally an Easter Vigil should celebrate the resurrection at midnight, when it is Sunday. It also adds weight to the Alleluia if the church has followed the tradition of not using the word alleluia at all during lent.
These objections are relatively minor. Happily, the Anglican church has a whole season of Lent to prepare and to wait so as to strengthen, underscore and emphasise the joyful celebration of Easter. It does seem a little unfortunate to jump the gun, however, even by a few hours.
The Easter Sunrise service was beautiful (and comparatively short), and the 10:30 Easter Morning service was completely joyful and exuberant, and included a great sermon by David on (of all things) Jesus' death and resurrection. In a harmony with other intelligent people, he talked about the fact and the fiction of Jesus' death and resurrection. Jan summed it up this way:
Jesus was dead, to begin with, there is no doubt whatever about that. Jesus was as dead as a door-nail. There is no doubt that Jesus was dead. This must be distinctly understood, or nothing wonderful can come of the story I am going to relate.
Jesus's death is indisputable, and the religious leaders were afraid that his disciples would steal the body. But theft was the second least likely thing to happen to that body. The Romans could have posted a blind little girl as a guard and it wouldn't have mattered, because the disciples lacked the stomach, the will, the foresight and the intelligence to steal Jesus' body.
Of course THE least likely thing to happen to that body did happen. Jesus rose from the dead. The guards were not there to keep disciples out, but to keep Jesus in. And the Romans could have posted the entire Roman army as a guard and it wouldn't have mattered, because no power on this earth could have kept Jesus in that tomb, separated from his world.
Jesus really was dead. And he really did rise. No tricks. No fraud.
And now Lent is over. Our preparation has ended, and the firstfruit has come. Our mourning is over and it is time for joy. Our fasting is over and now is the time of great feasting. The debt has been erased, the ransom has been paid up in full, death has been robbed of its victory and we are assured of life everlasting.
The Lord is risen indeed. Alleluia!
As other people have mentioned, Holy Saturday is a confusing time for the church. My own thoughts on the subject are mostly covered at the end of my first post on Holy Week. I think that there is a terrible tendancy to undermine the solemnity of Holy Saturday and to skip it. It is the whole point, the whole appeal, and the whole power of holy days and festivals that they have a discrete beginning. We cannot, during Holy Saturday, truly forget that we know the story of the resurrection, but we can pretend. And we can respect the sanctity of Easter by waiting until Easter is truly upon us to celebrate.
Jan and I went to two Holy Saturday Easter Vigils. Both were excellent services, but I think neither were sufficiently respectful of the day. More on that later.
The first service was at 5:00pm. It began in darkness in the basement, as candles were lit from a new fire. It was an Easter Vigil, and it was a service of confirmation. Five people were confirmed. Confirmation is a public affirmation of commitment to God, a renewal and personal claiming of the promises made at baptism. It was very exciting. The service itself was joyful and energetic, with more contemporary music than is usual at St. Margaret's. It was a nice change, although I found that the congregation wasn't quite sure how to react to upbeat, uptempo music. The bishop and David tried to get people clapping, but without much success.
The evening service was darker and more sombre. It was also an Easter Vigil, with a service of confirmation. The service was held in darkness, as we waited for the rising of the Lord. When the bishop said "Alleluia, Christ is risen!" and we replied "The Lord is risen indeed, Alleluia" the lights came on in the sanctuary, and it was followed by a singing of Alleluia. It was quite powerful and quite moving.
Both services were excellent. However, the first service was overly joyful for early evening of Holy Saturday. In prempted the rising of Jesus, and celebrated the resurrection while we should still be waiting. The second service was much more appropriate, but it also jumped the gun a little by celebrating the resurrection at about 11:00. Although I can understand the practical reasons why this wasn't the case, I think that ideally an Easter Vigil should celebrate the resurrection at midnight, when it is Sunday. It also adds weight to the Alleluia if the church has followed the tradition of not using the word alleluia at all during lent.
These objections are relatively minor. Happily, the Anglican church has a whole season of Lent to prepare and to wait so as to strengthen, underscore and emphasise the joyful celebration of Easter. It does seem a little unfortunate to jump the gun, however, even by a few hours.
The Easter Sunrise service was beautiful (and comparatively short), and the 10:30 Easter Morning service was completely joyful and exuberant, and included a great sermon by David on (of all things) Jesus' death and resurrection. In a harmony with other intelligent people, he talked about the fact and the fiction of Jesus' death and resurrection. Jan summed it up this way:
Jesus was dead, to begin with, there is no doubt whatever about that. Jesus was as dead as a door-nail. There is no doubt that Jesus was dead. This must be distinctly understood, or nothing wonderful can come of the story I am going to relate.
Jesus's death is indisputable, and the religious leaders were afraid that his disciples would steal the body. But theft was the second least likely thing to happen to that body. The Romans could have posted a blind little girl as a guard and it wouldn't have mattered, because the disciples lacked the stomach, the will, the foresight and the intelligence to steal Jesus' body.
Of course THE least likely thing to happen to that body did happen. Jesus rose from the dead. The guards were not there to keep disciples out, but to keep Jesus in. And the Romans could have posted the entire Roman army as a guard and it wouldn't have mattered, because no power on this earth could have kept Jesus in that tomb, separated from his world.
Jesus really was dead. And he really did rise. No tricks. No fraud.
And now Lent is over. Our preparation has ended, and the firstfruit has come. Our mourning is over and it is time for joy. Our fasting is over and now is the time of great feasting. The debt has been erased, the ransom has been paid up in full, death has been robbed of its victory and we are assured of life everlasting.
The Lord is risen indeed. Alleluia!
Sunday, April 16, 2006
Saturday, April 15, 2006
Churchy churchy church church
So.
It is Holy Week.
This is the time of year when I am most glad to be in a Liturgical church. So far I have attended four services this week. I will likely attend two today, and three tomorrow. And that's exactly how I want it.
St. Margaret's does Holy Week very, very well.
Thursday was Maundy Thursday. Maundy Thursday is a commemoration of the day when Jesus instituted the Lord's Supper. It is the day when Jesus was arrested and handed over to those who would kill him. It is the day he was abandoned by his disciples.
The Bishop of Rupert's Land was at St. Margaret's, and he washed the feet of some people who are being confirmed. In this way, the Bishop renewed his own service of God by serving his church. In this way, the Bishop acted out his discipleship by imitating Christ.
Our rector David gave an excellent sermon about excommunication, in which he made the point that excommunication is the Bishop's responsibility, because to those who do not discern the body of Christ, communion can be fatal. On Maundy Thursday, when Christ instituted his communion, we would do well to remember that while it is a holy sacrament open to all, it is a holy sacrament, and should not be done lightly. The torturer cannot share communion with the tortured. The oppressor shares communion with the oppressed to his own peril. And the Bishop must remove communion from the oppressor, lest communion be turned into a sword.
At the end of the service, the all the clergy and lay-leaders removed their albs surpicles and stoles, and left the Lord's Supper on the alter. They abandoned the body of Christ, abandoned their office, and left, and the church was made dark. From the back of the church, Psalm 22 was sung, and the altar was slowly stripped, piece by piece. The cross was covered with a dark shroud.
Yesterday at the morning Good Friday service, they were still not wearing their albs, but only a black cassock. The service was excellent, with the best choral music I have heard this year, three excellent meditations by David, and the passion according to the Gospel of John read in full. David's meditations were on the problem of evil, and a Christian response. Christians, says David, cannot ever make peace with evil. We cannot explain evil philosophically to say that it was in some way necessary. We cannot argue that darkness is needed to understand light. The Bible does not support such arguments. Darkness is not necessary for light to exist. Evil is not necessary for good to exist. The Bible offers no philosophical explanation of evil. What the Bible does offer evil is opposition. In Christ, the Bible offers us hope. In the cross we have a God who suffers with us, and in the ressurection we have triumph over evil. Good never had a beginning, and will never have an end, but evil did have a beginning, and it will have an end. Amen.
In the afternoon, Jan and I helped lead a walk through the Passion for families. It was very tangable and tactile, and in the end much more meaningful and moving than I expected it to be. We followed Jesus into a tomb, and then followed him out again.
Then Jan and I skipped the evening Good Friday service to go to have supper at the Olive Garden—which is our Good Friday tradition.
And now it is Holy Saturday. Jesus is dead and buried, and today we wait. We wait in mournful sadness, and we wait in joyful anticipation, but our joy does not overcome our sorrow yet. Though we know that Sunday is coming, and we cannot pretend that we don't—though we cannot help but see the crucifiction in the light of the resurection, and therefore is it a Good Friday—yet it is not Sunday yet. But soon.
Soon.
It is Holy Week.
This is the time of year when I am most glad to be in a Liturgical church. So far I have attended four services this week. I will likely attend two today, and three tomorrow. And that's exactly how I want it.
St. Margaret's does Holy Week very, very well.
Thursday was Maundy Thursday. Maundy Thursday is a commemoration of the day when Jesus instituted the Lord's Supper. It is the day when Jesus was arrested and handed over to those who would kill him. It is the day he was abandoned by his disciples.
The Bishop of Rupert's Land was at St. Margaret's, and he washed the feet of some people who are being confirmed. In this way, the Bishop renewed his own service of God by serving his church. In this way, the Bishop acted out his discipleship by imitating Christ.
Our rector David gave an excellent sermon about excommunication, in which he made the point that excommunication is the Bishop's responsibility, because to those who do not discern the body of Christ, communion can be fatal. On Maundy Thursday, when Christ instituted his communion, we would do well to remember that while it is a holy sacrament open to all, it is a holy sacrament, and should not be done lightly. The torturer cannot share communion with the tortured. The oppressor shares communion with the oppressed to his own peril. And the Bishop must remove communion from the oppressor, lest communion be turned into a sword.
At the end of the service, the all the clergy and lay-leaders removed their albs surpicles and stoles, and left the Lord's Supper on the alter. They abandoned the body of Christ, abandoned their office, and left, and the church was made dark. From the back of the church, Psalm 22 was sung, and the altar was slowly stripped, piece by piece. The cross was covered with a dark shroud.
Yesterday at the morning Good Friday service, they were still not wearing their albs, but only a black cassock. The service was excellent, with the best choral music I have heard this year, three excellent meditations by David, and the passion according to the Gospel of John read in full. David's meditations were on the problem of evil, and a Christian response. Christians, says David, cannot ever make peace with evil. We cannot explain evil philosophically to say that it was in some way necessary. We cannot argue that darkness is needed to understand light. The Bible does not support such arguments. Darkness is not necessary for light to exist. Evil is not necessary for good to exist. The Bible offers no philosophical explanation of evil. What the Bible does offer evil is opposition. In Christ, the Bible offers us hope. In the cross we have a God who suffers with us, and in the ressurection we have triumph over evil. Good never had a beginning, and will never have an end, but evil did have a beginning, and it will have an end. Amen.
In the afternoon, Jan and I helped lead a walk through the Passion for families. It was very tangable and tactile, and in the end much more meaningful and moving than I expected it to be. We followed Jesus into a tomb, and then followed him out again.
Then Jan and I skipped the evening Good Friday service to go to have supper at the Olive Garden—which is our Good Friday tradition.
And now it is Holy Saturday. Jesus is dead and buried, and today we wait. We wait in mournful sadness, and we wait in joyful anticipation, but our joy does not overcome our sorrow yet. Though we know that Sunday is coming, and we cannot pretend that we don't—though we cannot help but see the crucifiction in the light of the resurection, and therefore is it a Good Friday—yet it is not Sunday yet. But soon.
Soon.
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