Watching and waiting for Holy Week...

Today was one of preparation - and waiting.  All the bulletins for Holy Week are finished and all the liturgists recruited.  We still have some SERIOUS practice to do for the Good Friday meditation on disorientation, but all the ground work is finished. So at midday Eucharist, we read from Psalm 31 and spoke of the refuge... the fortress... and the net.

In you, O Lord, I seek refuge;
do not let me ever be put to shame;
in your righteousness deliver me.
Incline your ear to me;
rescue me speedily.
Be a rock of refuge for me,
a strong fortress to save me.

You are indeed my rock and my fortress;
for your name’s sake lead me and guide me,
take me out of the net that is hidden for me,
for you are my refuge.
Into your hand I commit my spirit;
you have redeemed me, O Lord, faithful God...

Be gracious to me, O Lord, for I am in distress;
my eye wastes away from grief,
my soul and body also.
For my life is spent with sorrow,
and my years with sighing;
my strength fails because of my misery,
   and my bones waste away...
But I trust in you, O Lord;
I say, ‘You are my God.’
Let's be real:  doing ministry is odd work. It is simultaneously filled with blessing and tumult.  Almost more than anything else I do, sharing this simple Eucharist feeds my soul. Afterwards, a few of us were swapping stories built on the theme, "no good deed goes unpunished," and it was a time of light and laughter as we tried to hold one an other's wounds knowing that whatever we might do it will never not enough.  And so we laugh - and share - and sometimes weep.  How does St. Paul put it:

It is by God’s mercy that we are engaged in this ministry, we do not lose heart... for we have this treasure in clay jars, so that it may be made clear that this extraordinary power belongs to God and does not come from us.We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair;persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be made visible in our bodies. For while we live, we are always being given up to death for Jesus’ sake, so that the life of Jesus may be made visible in our mortal flesh. So death is at work in us, but life in you.

So after finishing my Good Friday mini-homily re: disorientation I sat back to listen to some classic Herbie Hancock and early Miles.  Like Mary Oliver says so well:

The man who has many answers
is often found
in the theaters of information
where he offers, graciously,
his deep findings.

While the man who has only questions,
to comfort himself, makes music.

I think I'm going to end my Good Friday homily with Mary Oliver's wisdom.  Here's what I've got so far...
 

Namaste – welcome – peace be with you.  Tonight we want to invite you to consider with us a sacred truth known in every spiritual tradition that is often overlooked or forgotten:  disorientation.  Life is filled with unexpected tragedies and suffering as well as a sacred love that can transform our worst pain into something redemptive.   This healing, however, is never automatic or inevitable – there is evil, cruelty and senseless agony everywhere – and so tonight we gather to express our sorrow and solidarity with the wounded of the world. 

+ I think of young Malala Yousufzai – shot in the head by the Pakistani Taliban for being a girl who wanted an education.  I think of Gabby Giffords shot down and stricken for life by a wild ass gun man in Tucson.  I think of the children at Sandy Hook Elementary School.

+ I think of infants born with HIV/AIDS – I think of the elderly who have worked all their lives only to have to choose between buying supper and buying their essential medications.  I think of brothers and sisters with mental illness – friends and neighbors with cancer – loved ones attacked because of their skin or hated because of who they love – I think of political and religious violence – and the list goes on forever.

So, without any false piety or destructive sentimentality we come together tonight to be real.  Part of being real means owning how harsh and ugly life can be.  Another part of being real, however, means that we also come together to honor how God’s love is bringing healing and hope to us from out of the most horrible agonies.  I don’t know about you but it brings me tears of joy – and grief – to see Gabby Giffords get up every day and challenge those who would profit from death.  Or young Malala be nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize. 

So being real means celebrating that within the agony there is also a power at work in the world – a love much greater than ourselves – that brings light into the darkness and serenity into our chaos NOT because we deserve it or have earned it.  No, it comes to us as a precious gift if we are open and awake and empty enough to receive it.  Tonight is our meditation on the blessings of disorientation….

+ We began by embracing the polarity that exists between Good Friday and Easter. We juxtapose the ancient prayer – o blessed fault - o necessary sin – felix culpa – with the weird industrial groove of “Purple Haze” to give shape, form and sound to this tension.  As the readings and songs mature, we hope that you will sense the tension of the Paschal Mystery and wrestle with how God brings healing and hope into the ugliest realities: surrender and serenity, you see, are married to acceptance – and this always feels disorienting.

+ Left to ourselves, we live in a “Mad World.”  We know that something is wrong and want to “get outta Dodge,” but we don’t know where to go – so we “Keep the Car Running” even when bad becomes worse.   When all of our “Roads” lead to despair – and we find ourselves “At the Bottom of the River” – only then are we able to sense that an alternative has been offered to us that is pregnant with grace.  Only when we run out of options – when we have no more “High Hopes” – does God greet us in our Good Friday and lead us towards Easter.

Tonight’s meditation is grounded in the Christian story of Good Friday, but it is as true in the Jewish exodus and wilderness stories, the Buddha’s quest for enlightenment or practicing the 12 steps of AA. Towards the end of the evening – in a quiet affirmation of grace – we’ll close with an inclusive hymn and then Herbie Hancock’s arrangement of Peter Gabriel’s, “Don’t Give Up.”  And that is at the heart of this experience – the reality that hope and love are often to be found mixed-up next to our fear and despair – and we need one another to help us sort it out.  If you feel so inclined, when we are playing “Don’t Give Up” come on up and light a candle as a symbol of your commitment to being real. 

 

The man who has many answers
is often found
in the theaters of information
where he offers, graciously,
his deep findings.

While the man who has only questions,
to comfort himself, makes music.

Thank you for joining us – let the journey go deeper – in grace and peace.