Throughout the western world the Wednesday before Easter is called,”Spy Wednesday.” It is a reference to the night Judas’ sold-out Jesus to the Roman authorities. It was the night that set the crucifixion into motion. For that he will always be remembered as one of the most evil figures of history. In some parts of the world on this night an effigy of Judas is thrown from high buildings or dragged through town while people throw sticks at it. He is blame worthy, cruel, and the farthest thing from our imagination we would ever want to be. Which is why it is so important for us to see where we…
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Oil Spill: How much should I be worried about whether God will forgive me?
In my church we most often confirm people on Easter Sunday. It was the tradition in the area I lived at that time to have a special service on the Tuesday before Easter when members of individual congregations would come to pick up oils blessed by the Bishop to bring back to their individual congregations. I eagerly volunteered and was selected to go and represent our congregation to get the oils. This particular service had a lot of meaning for me and I had been looking forward to actually participating in it for days. When it came to the big day, I slept through it. I forgot it entirely.
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Manic Maundy: How you can prevent waging a personal war-on-Easter.
It is springtime and it seems the hectic demands I usually have around Christmas are beginning to over take Holy Week as well. Besides my normal work obligations I have time sensitive art projects, volunteer work, some important events with my friends and of course, church services. I feel like I am waging my own personal war on Easter trying to figure out what the most Christian choices I can make are. I suspect that I am not at all alone in this. I find myself asking familiar questions about what Christianity is all, “about,”
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Face-Palm Sunday: How sincerity can keep Christians from being Christian.
Nearly every Palm Sunday sermon I heard growing up emphasized the inevitable hypocrisy of those who would be shouting Jesus’ praise on one day and crying “crucify him!” just days later. During these sermons I always pictured the crowds as wicked bearded villains (perhaps with pirate hats?). I most certainly never pictured them being anything like me. That is why it was so confusing when, without any sense of irony, we all picked up Palm leaves and cried, “Hosannah!” just like those bearded hypocrite-pirates that we knew turned on Jesus later. I knew that there were sides but I lost track of whose side to be on. Sunday? Friday?
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Disappointment with God: We are in over our heads.
I have come to believe that there can be no mature spiritual life without experiencing disappointment with God. When I was younger I would have cringed at the idea because so much of my faith hinged on my sincerity and certainty of my own convictions. Today my faith requires no less sincerity, but it does ask me to move beyond my own convictions to a place where I can be sure of what I hope for and certain of what I can not see.
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Five Things I Will Never Give Up for Lent.
Lent is pulling into the station and Holy week is just about to begin. I think there are lessons and moments of clarity I have discovered this year just by slowing some things down and cutting some things out. Part of what I have learned about the careful dance between God’s grace and our participation is the difference between trying to make things happen and making room for God and others to do things in us. I offer these in hope you can learn from my mistakes. These are some of my lenten attempts that, surprisingly, have proven to be enemies of grace.
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Rinse and Repeat: How to find God …in the kitchen sink.
Until this year I have not been good at keeping New Year’s resolutions. I think I always swear to things which are a little out of reach in order to exempt myself from success. The voices in my head say, “Let it slide. After all, no one keeps New Year’s resolutions anyway…I guess I’ll just keep these 10 extra pounds for now.” To my great surprise this year has been different. In fact it has actually caused a shift in my spirituality that I have been longing for. I think it is good news for all of us. My resolution is this: rinse and repeat.
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Eat at Joe’s: A beautiful story of what happens when a band of misfits and atheists get their hands on the feast of St Joseph.
It is a habit in some parts of the world, to celebrate the feast of Saint Joseph with an elaborate feast, some theatrics, and a lot of charity. Some dear friends of mine decided that last night would be a good night to throw our own feast with our friends from Burning Flipside. One doesn’t have to know the burner community very long before one realizes that there are a good portion of the community, thought not all of it, with total indifference or heated antipathy toward religion and specifically the Christian Church. Having heard some of their stories, I don’t blame them, not a bit. So while…
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Then I Looked Up: The shocking revelation that plants and souls like to grow.
When I moved into this place its outside looked very much like my inside did. The branches of the tall trees drooped to the ground as if to hide the house everyone knew was there. The house kept dark. The yard looked very much like a bad case of male patterned baldness, only growing around the edges. The backyard was in no better shape. It was waist high in un-welcomed greenery and while I am not absolutely positive I think some of that greenery was, how shall I say, questionably legal leftovers from the previous tenants. Toward the south was a fairly ominous twisting of dead limbs that once was…
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How to Drive Out Snakes: Lessons from a guy who wasn’t even Irish.
The story is not so ironic as just surprising because it has been so long forgotten. St Patrick’s particular story of redemption, the reason he is considered a saint, is so mashed up with corned beef and green beer that when we finally do hear it does seem a little surprising. In fact just like the story of St. Valentine it can actually sound surprisingly subversive. The big reveal that makes the story so interesting is simply this: St. Patrick wasn’t Irish. In fact, he had good reason to hate them.
