On a hill far away

I just started reading Thomas Hardy's novel Jude the Obscure. In the opening scene, young Jude's schoolmaster is leaving town to pursue his dream of attending university and being ordained. When Jude stops to help with the moving, he notices that the current rector of their village has not come to see the teacher off, but has gone away for the day because he hates the sight of change. The other students are standing far off as well, like "certain historic disciples," not wanting to seem to enthusiastic about their teacher.

When Jesus entered Jerusalem, he was surrounded by a curious and adoring crowd. The crowd follows him again on Good Friday, scorning him as he endures trial and execution. Then, when he has died, they want no more of this teacher and return home. Even his friends "stood at a distance, watching these things." (Luke 23:49).

Holy Week is a busy time at the church. There is much to do as we celebrate the high drama and deep symbolism of these great feasts. My prayer as we enter this special time is that we will not let the work of doing church distract us from what Jesus is teaching us. Let us not stand at a distance, watching these things, but come right up to sit at the feet of the master.

Stop. Look. Listen.

I heard an interview with Daniel Menaker, who wrote the book "A Good Talk" about the art of having a conversation. He said that many animals can hear, but humans are unique in our ability to listen. Good conversationalists know how to invite people to speak, not to provide some necessary bit of information, but simply to share whatever they want from their own experiences. In a good talk, we hear a story we've never heard before. We learn something new.

For me, the practice of keeping Lent is about learning to listen. Each day is punctuated by the question: What is God speaking to my heart?

Here is a listening prayer I love. It's from the Terma Collective:

May my feet rest firmly on the ground. May my head touch the sky.
May I see clearly. May I have the capacity to listen.
May I be free to touch. May my words be true. May my heart and mind be open.
May my hands be empty to fill the need.May my arms be open to others.
May my gifts be revealed to me, so I may return that which has been given,
completing the great circle.

Mary's baby boy

When I hear of a death, I so often find myself thinking "This was somebody's baby." The passing of a life reminds me of the joy and protective love someone felt when this child entered the world.

Now, a few days before we commemorate Christ's Passion, I find my imagination turning back to his nativity. Every year, the weeks between Christmas and Easter seem shorter. We welcome the baby Jesus, and then before we know it this child is a grown man setting out to meet his fate in Jerusalem.

Easter connects Jesus' life and death to forces far greater than any one man. He brings rebirth in springtime, just as the natural world is teeming with new life. He conquers death, restores God's vision for human history and makes all creation new. His actions reverberate through the cosmos. And yet, he is not a legend or image. He is a man. Just a man, so recently a baby boy in his parents' arms.

More than fair

Since members of our parish read William Young's The Shack together, many parts of that surprising and sometimes frustrating book have stayed with me. One that stand's out is Young's explanation of rights and relationships. His Creator figure tells us that we humans insist on protecting our rights because we don't know how to get what we need any other way. We're so bad at relationships that we need the structure of rights to keep us from hurting each other. If we really learned how to share in God's love, all those rules would fall away.

Even here in Massachusetts, home to a driving culture that borders on insanity, I notice that drivers do not always take the right of way. We have the rules to keep us safe, the many regulations that tell us who gets to drive on and who has to yield the way. But if heavy traffic or a tricky intersection keeps a person waiting a long time, eventually someone else stops and signals for them to go ahead. Just this morning, three people relinquished the right of way in order to help me, a total stranger, get where I needed to go.

Our relationships thrive when we are willing to be more than fair, to give up what is rightfully ours for the sake of our neighbors.

Peace and the sword

The ancient hymn goes, "The strife is over, the battle done, the victory of life is won." There is a long tradition in our faith of seeing Jesus as a warrior locked in battle with sin and death. On Easter morning he emerges victorious, winning the war for the side of grace and life.

There is good reason to be cautious about this image. Over the centuries, many people have wrapped it around their own self-interest and their own hatreds, justifying terrible violence by claiming they fight on the side of Christ.

At the same time, I'm not ready to throw it out entirely. Every time I encounter suffering, I become more convinced that evil is a real and powerful force in our world. People struggle constantly to turn away from choices that cause pain and turn towards God's healing. When I feel unable to help, I find strength in the image of Jesus the peaceful warrior, facing down the forces of evil with courage and love. I want him to teach me to stay centered in the midst of chaos, skillfully turning aside every attempt to break the human spirit.

A little gift

While we were out shopping today, it turned out there were all sorts of restrictions on the coupon I wanted to use. The cashier helpfully explained what to do, but it still took a while to check out. My son played patiently at my feet while we got it sorted out. As we headed out the door, a clerk caught up to us. My boy's eyes widened as he noticed the big rainbow superball in her outstretched hand. "She gave me a present!" he cried.

The cashier's face grew tense as she managed the store's rules, but the floor clerk who was allowed to give toys to children did her work with a beaming smile. For her book Nickel and Dimed, Barbara Ehrenreich took low-paying jobs to see whether people can really survive on our minimum wage. When she worked in a chain restaurant, she noticed that the waitresses rebelled against their highly regulated company by adding little extras to the food - a pat of butter, a swirl of whipped cream. These little acts of generosity allowed them to feel like the customers' friends rather than like faceless cogs in a food-serving machine. They needed to have something to give in order to feel truly human.

One of the most basic things we know about God is that God is generous, constantly pouring out unexpected beauty, power and love. Made in God's image, we all have this spirit of generosity imprinted in our hearts. To be fully ourselves, we need to find some way to give.

Sweet expectation

Waiting can be so delicious. When we're hoping for something wonderful - a birth, a wedding, a new home, an adventure - we're full to the brim with the excitement of it.

It's easy to let the waiting of Lent turn into dread. We know we have a journey to take with Jesus. Palm Sunday and Good Friday are coming, and we will be called to bear witness to the the grief and outrage of the Passion story. The messages of sin and mortality weigh upon us. Sometimes in our faith journey that's where we need to be, walking the hard roads with Jesus so we can remember that he walks the hard parts of our lives with us.

This year, I'm finding that the waiting is sweeter. As I mark each day of this forty-day journey, I feel that much closer to the promise of Easter. Jesus is rising! Soon!