Now, to love, is an art. To look deeply into each person we meet and see the form of greatness that lies within requires an artist’s eye. To be the implement that helps to bring out that form requires an artist’s touch. To blend all of the themes of a life into symphony requires an artist’s ear.
We have pulled down the Romance of God and replaced it with the golden calf of expedience and security. And so, we have lost our art; and our heart.
Why do you seek the living among the dead? He is not here. He is risen. He is risen, indeed. Wake up you sleeper. For who among… Read more “Resurrection Day”
Loss. Disillusion. Dissolution. The writers of the Gospels don’t spend ink telling us how they felt on Saturday. It was the Sabbath and nothing could be done,… Read more “Passion Week, Saturday: Waiting in the Dark”
He was an old man, but full of energy, and his brown eyes merrily peered out of the tangled web of laugh lines and stress marks that… Read more “Passion Week, Good Friday: Courage”
Maundy Thursday. Thursday, during the day, again we have no recorded activity. Jesus knew what was coming, He took His time getting back into town. Redemption was… Read more “Passion Week, Thursday: Foundations”
I’m sure He prayed, ate some of Martha’s locally famous rhubarb pie, played a game of chess with Lazarus, who had become amazingly hard to beat lately, and listen to Mary giggle as she told Him funny stories about her childhood. I bet he got up early and went fishing with Peter, Andrew and the gang. You know they gave Judas the business because He was in a somber mood and Jesus had to tell Thomas to quit worrying about seventy-two times.
Incidentally, on the following Friday, when He was unjustly executed, murdered, by a corrupt Government and Religious system, a sign was hung on the cross that named Him, satirically, the King of the Jews. This mocking message was written in three languages: Latin, the language of government; Greek, the language of education and knowledge; and Aramaic, the language of His Religion. Christ conquered, but the crisis continues. To be a disciple of Christ is to fight the same battles.
No reluctant reformer coming in the night to nail his manifesto to the church door under cover of darkness, no, Jesus struck from a clear blue sky and shattered the false peace of the Passover participants.
When Jesus road through the gates of Jerusalem, the man who had raised Lazarus from the dead, the prophet from Galilee, the Pharisees nemesis, the rebel rockstar of a teacher who gently hammered the established order with his upside-down philosophies and a religion that said God could be your Papa, were the people silent or murmuring? Were they giddy with anticipation?