Good Friday

He came with the disciples to the garden,

and yet he really came alone.

The time was almost here,

so close that it could be felt.

Death had been introduced in the upper room,

and it followed him to the garden.

If it is your will, Abba,

remove the yoke from me.

He was all man, now.

God made man was begging--

Not for his life--

but for some way

any way

to remove the cup--

the cross--

his Father's well-earned wrath

from being poured out.

He knew from the beginning that it was not to be,

but he was all man

and so he prayed.

He asked his friends,

those who had boasted about who would sit on which side,

to sit with him and pray.

They truly wanted to,

but sorrow overtook them

and they slept instead.

What would have happened had the angels not intervened,

bringing some manna of which we know not?

Death would have won.

If there is no cross, there is no salvation.

And so he prayed, he cried out, he sweated drops like blood,

but then he gave in.

"Not my will, but thine be done."

And he walked forward and faced it all.

Judas, the priests, the judges, the scourging, 

the ignominy of a death on a cross.

Death followed him,

whispering into his ear,

"What are you doing?

Do you really believe that this will help?

These people are doomed.

They're not your people,

They're my people.

Raised on high for all to see,

He continued his journey.

"Father forgive them, for they know not what they do."

What? You want God to forgive them?  They just crucified God's son! Are you out of your mind?"

"Today you will be with me in paradise"

Paradise?  With you?  How sweet.  Have you forgotten that you will both be dead? You will both be mine! And believe me, I have big plans for you.

"This is your son.  This is your mother."

If you get down from there, think of all the suffering that you will spare her.  Is this really necessary?

"My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?"

Finally, you understand.  You are not God.  You are not even a man.  You are nothing.  If you truly are God, as you said, save yourself!

Death tried to chuckle, 

but he could hear the rumble of every Jewish heart there.

What had been started continued,

unbidden,

as it came through years and years of worship.

For the first time, they heard the breaths inside the psalm.

For the first time, they realized that the pauses--

natural rests--

were the sounds of a man breathing

struggling

on a cross.

For the first time, Death felt doubt

Could he have misstepped?

No, this was his moment of victory, 

and he was determined to savor it.

"I am thirsty."

You will be more than that in a few short hours.

Oh, what I have planned for you…

But the bravado was wearing thin.

"It is finished."

Finished?  

What is? 

Your wonderful plan of salvation? 

But the chill that was creeping over him was not to be ignored.

"Father, into Your hands I commend my spirit."

No longer did Death try to make himself heard.

It was over.

God's Son was dead.

His heart had broken.

For what?

These mice?

Eager to begin the next chapter,

Death went back to Hell,

to wait.

He didn't have to wait long.

The Lenten Road

Walking the Lenten road,
Turning down the volume,
So as to listen more easily
To the still small voice.

Walking the path quietly,
Slowly,
So that I can better understand
The puzzle of your love.

Taking time when none exists,
Making sure not to make excuses,
Walking slowly in the rush of day,
So that your secrets might be shared.

You are the Lord of the Universe,
Yet you came to earth as a man--
One of us--
The perfect sacrifice for sin.

During these days set apart for you,
Let us remember to listen,
To think,
To contemplate your mysteries,
So that we can learn to love you more.

Amen.

in and through his eyes

I seem to always be fascinated by your eyes, Lord
Not by the color or shape or size--
  Although I do see them as brown and almond and set deep in a rugged dark face--
But by what they see.

When I look in your eyes,
I see compassion and peace
Hope for the hopeless
and rest for the weary.

But at the same time,
I see the snap of fire that is reserved for those
Who trouble and persecute Your people.
Both your people Israel and your people that have been grafted on through adoption.

People like me.

When I read the Gospels and look through your eyes,
Oh Lord!
The compassion that you felt for the poor
The downtrodden
Those who have come to you for healing
Or salvation.

I see grief--tears for Lazarus your brother,
John your cousin
And the woman caught in adultery.

I see fire for the religious leaders who have dared to distort Your truth
To take away the role of Love
And replace it with a lifetime of rules--
  Rules that nobody can ever follow--
All for the sake of religion.

How do you see us today, Lord?

I myself dared to ask you to let me see myself through your eyes.
I was afraid--trembling--
For I knew the wrong that I had done.
I knew how ugly the world saw me to be
And I was horrified at how you must see me.

But I had to know.
Because I had to know if what I believed about you was true,
Or if I was believing a lie.

And so, fearfully, I asked you to show me myself
  As You saw me.

And I saw

A woman of beauty,
Dressed in white,
Prepared as a bride for her Husband.

And then I saw the husband's view--
The love, the adoration
Adoration?
That he felt when he looked upon me

And I saw the truth

This is why You died
This is why You came to Earth as a baby

Because you adore us
Love us
Enough to give up your life
To save us.

And during these 40 days of Lent
May I learn
  Somehow
To see my brothers and sisters
With your eyes.

Amen.

the home visit--a lenten story

Marty started teaching with high hopes.  She saw herself as a shining figure, looked upon with awe by her students.  She thought she could make a difference in the world.  She imagined that she would be surrounded by adoring little faces, asking for hugs and fighting each other for the chance to hold her hand.

Then reality intervened.  First of all, she was a new teacher.  New teachers get their pick neither of schools nor of grades.  You get what you're given, and in this economy, you're happy to get whatever you are given.  So Marty--Ms. Banks--was given a sixth grade class in an area of town that was not the best.

Things didn't start off well, and they went downhill from there.  Her dreams of teacherly bliss soon faded, to be replaced by the understanding that this was a war zone.  Her students didn't want to be there, and she didn't really want them there, either.  They were not very nice.  They were foul mouthed, they cheated, and some of them smelled bad.  Oh, there were two or three who had a ready smile for "Teacher", but most of them said little and worked less.  Within a week, Marty was sure she'd made a mistake.  By the end of the first month, she realized that teaching wasn't for her.  By the end of the first semester, she decided that she had to quit.  She hated to do it to her students, but honestly, they would be better off with a teacher who cared.  So right before Christmas break, she went to the principal, Mr. Evans, and explained that she wanted out.

Mr Evans reminded her that she had a contract.  However, he said, he would disregard it if, in return, she would do one thing for him.  She could leave without breaking her contract if she would first give each of her students a home visit.  Marty was immediately struck by the thought of what kind of homes these students must live in, what kind of neighborhoods, but before she could say a word, Mr. Evans said that he'd been to every home in the school.  He promised her that she would be safe.  The parents knew that she was a teacher, and they would make sure of it.

Marty didn't want to do it, but she knew that she was being offered a deal that was more than generous, so she agreed.  That very afternoon, she made her first visits.  She decided to start off easy, so she visited the house of two sisters who had asked to be placed together.  The house was poor but neat, and the parents--both unemployed--were nonetheless very careful to make sure that their children were clean and minded their manners.  It was a very nice visit.  The next day, she visited a few more houses, then a few more, then a few more.

As the week progressed, she ran out of "good" children to visit and started to visit the ones that gave her problems.  First was Enrique.  He never did his homework, never paid attention, and always seemed to be talking to another student beside him.  When Marty rang the bell, a woman in a long dress and a shawl answered.  Her coal black hair hung in a braid behind her, and when she saw Marty, she immediately called for her son.  Enrique came to the door along with a little sister holding a baby.  They looked on shyly as Enrique said, "Teacher!  You come see me?"  Marty said that she was only here to say "Hi," to the family; that he wasn't in trouble.  Enrique said, "Oh, my mom no speak English so good."  Marty spoke some Spanish, and she and the mom chatted about her children, her husband in Mexico, and about Enrique.  She thanked her over and over for coming--no other teacher ever came to visit--only Mr. Evans.  As she talked, Marty watched Enrique interact with his sisters.  He was so gentle, so patient with them!  He never uttered a word of English--they all spoke Spanish.  Understanding dawned--"Enrique, when you talk to the other students in class, what do you talk about?"  Enrique explained, "I still no speak English so good, and I talk to my friends.  You talk a little fast, but they help me."  Marty smiled and said that it was fine for Enrique to ask his friends for translation.  She said goodbye to the mother and went to the next house on the list--Bozie's house.

Bozie was never clean.  He came to school, yes, but he didn't seem ready to work.   He slept half the time, and the rest of the time he acted out--calling out questions, getting close to her and just standing there, jus tlittle stuff.  He was big and never seemed to wear clean clothes, and Marty thought that maybe he had some special needs.  Bozie's dad opened the door.  "What do you want?" he said.  "I'm Bozie's teacher, and I am paying all my students a visit over Christmas.  I just wanted to introduce you and say hello.  "Bozie really likes your class," he said.  He's out at the store right now.  I"m disabled, and Bozie helps me out a lot around the house.  It's been hard on us for the past few years--his mom died right after I broke my hip at work, and things just haven't felt right since.  He'll be sad he missed you.  He talks about you all the time.  It's really hard, you know, raising a boy on your own, but Bozie is a good kid, He's been slow since his mama died, but the doctor tells me that happens when kids go through trauma.  She died in a car accident--did I tell you that?

Marty left the house before Bozie's dad could see her cry.  As she continued her visits, she realized that the only person with a problem at the school was her.  The other students had problems, yes, but she had not realized that and hadn't tried to help in any way.

When she came back to the principal the week after Christmas, she told him that she'd changed her mind.  She wanted to stay.  The principal told her that he had not doubted that.  Sometimes we had to remember that we were here to serve. It is hard to know how to serve if you don't know who you're serving.  When second semester started, Marty had a different attitude.  No, things didn't magically improve, but Marty's attitude did.  Now she understood.  The answer to her problem wasn't a new job--or more discipline--nor was it better classroom management.  The answer to her problem was love.  Love those that are put in your path, and that love will be paid back a thousandfold.  It was a lesson she never forgot.  And every Christmas from then on, Marty made it a point to visit her classes.  It was a labor of love.

Our Brother and the evil one in the wilderness

Luke 4:1-13

It happened after our Brother was filled with the Holy Spirit.  He told us that he needed to go to the wilderness to fast.  He walked out, and as soon as he began his journey, the evil one took a place at his side.  Every step he walked, the old trickster whispered in his ear.  At first, of course, our Brother paid no heed.  He had decided to neither eat nor  drink for forty days!  He spent the same amount of time  in the wilderness that our Grandfather Noah spent on the water, fasting, praying, and waiting for the will of God to be revealed.  It seemed to him that every day the voice of the old tempter became more seductive, more enticing.  Finally the forty days were over.  The end of his journey was at hand--this would be the end of his first steps and the beginning of the longer Journey that would lead to our blessed Brother's death.  He knew exactly what was in store, and he hungered and thirsted.

On that day, our Brother was famished.  Of course, the tempter chose that moment to sidle beside Him and whisper seductively into his ear.  "If you are the Son of God, command this stone to become a loaf of bread." As soon as he said it, our Brother's eyes saw the tempting loaf.  He smelled the yeast and grain, and the aroma was overwhelming.  But at the same time, the Holy Spirit within him brought to mind His Father's words:  Man does not live by bread alone. No sooner was the thought made apparent than the lips caused them to come into being. "It is written…"  Instantly the tantalizing aroma vanished, to be replaced by the stench of death.

Having failed in the first test, the evil one took our Brother up an incline.  He swept out his hand and our Brother saw a myriad of kingdoms--shining and glorious with people and riches too vast to count.  The people seemed to see them and immediately fell to their faces in awe and respect--not for our Brother, but for the evil one.  They surrounded their leader and fawned attention on him.  From their midst he looked at our Brother and said, "See how they adore me? See how they worship me?  See how they lay their tributes at my feet?  Simply worship me, and all this authority, power and glory will be yours!  The people at the evil king's feet looked up at our Brother, and the light of love was in their eyes.  They began to stand as our Brother moved in front of the evil one.  But then they all fell back as he proclaimed, "It is written, 'Worship the Lord your God and serve only Him'".  Was it only a trick of the light?  All semblance of humanity disappeared and the two were once again surrounded only by rocks and desert sands.

But the evil one was not finished.  Not yet.  Our Brother was taken to the holy city, Jerusalem.  The evil one took him to the temple, a building made to honor our God and Father.  He stood before him, staring at him with a mixture of defiance and malice.  "If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down from here, for it is written, 'He will command his angels concerning you, to protect you,' and 'On their hands they will bear you up, so that you will not dash your foot against a stone.'"  The sneer in his voice made it apparent that he doubted the holy words.  It was nothing more nor less than a dare.

As he spoke the words, the very air around him was filled with the rush of angels' wings:  black and white and shining in the brilliance of the desert sun.  Starving, thirsty, with fatigue straining his being, our Brother looked at this being, this once-beloved, and he answered him.  "It is said, 'Do not put the Lord your God to the test.'"  It was not said vindictively, not with malice, and yet the very words caused the fallen angel to remember the time that he himself decided in his vanity to do just that.  The tableau vanished, Jerusalem once again became desert sky, and the prince of darkness skulked off to wait for the more opportune time.

It was finished.  For now.

a new look at homelessness (lenten reflection)

I teach high school.  We are a very service-oriented high school, too.  We prepare food for the homeless, clean up and repair buildings, and so on.  We support Adopt-A-Family.  My students know about homeless, and so do I.

So imagine my surprise when I began our devotions last week from a book for teachers that gives a devotion for each period during Lent, only to realize that I myself had been homeless.

No, I never lost my house.  I never had to beg for money on the streets.  God has been supremely gracious to me, because it easily could have ended up like that for my family and me after my husband died.  Instead, he brought my sister to dare me to go back to school.  I did, got my degree, began teaching, and was in the middle of my first year when my husband died.

What I realized this week was that I was "homeless" in that I moved and had no home.  Home was Bakersfield, as I've mentioned earlier.  In Tucson, I knew nobody, had no idea of where the good places to live, eat, buy clothes, go shopping, or find fun things to do were.  At that time, I was not a person who reached out easily, and so I didn't make friends and spent my first few years in solitude.

What a blessing it would have been had someone reached out!  When from time to time someone spoke words of encouragement to me, took me to coffee, or just reached out a hand in friendship, it was as if morning was dawning in a cold dreary night.

This is the lesson that my students and I learned this week.  God asks you to comfort those who are without comfort, care for your brothers and sisters, and minister to those in need.  You don't have to look in soup kitchens or on skid row for them; they're right here--in the workplace, in school, in your own neighborhood.

Have you noticed that new face at work?  Have you heard about the young mother whose husband just shipped out?  Did you get the news about the elderly lady whose husband just died?  Those people are your Lenten sacrifice--speak to them, offer them a hand of welcome, fix them a dinner, offer to babysit. You'll be amazed at how good it makes you feel.