Attend The Liturgies Of Holy Week

“The world will little note, nor long remember, what we say here, but it will never forget what they did here.” Words spoken on the battlefield at Gettysburg, some four months after that terrible battle between our fellow Americans. Mindful that whatever I write here or say in homilies utterly pales compared to the actions of God in Christ Jesus on our behalf, I must ask: What is worth saying? What needs to be said? Actions do indeed speak louder than words, and Christ’s action—his Passion—speaks beyond all telling. What should we, Christ’s members, say and do?

The best that I can do is to urge all of our faithful to attend the liturgies of Holy Week. These liturgies are one: Passion / Palm Sunday; Mass of the Lord’s Supper on Holy Thursday; the Passion and Death of Christ on Good Friday; the Easter Vigil in which Christ’s Life from death is proclaimed; the joyful celebration of Christ’s Resurrection on Easter Day. These services are not easy to prepare for, not easy to celebrate, probably in some ways not emotionally easy to undergo. Some of us have shared our thoughts and feelings about what we experience during Holy Week. It is painful to remember what happened to Jesus Christ. His rejection, suffering, brutal death are indeed a profound judgment on this world, and on what one can expect here: love is often rejected; goodness is often thwarted by evil; truth is often distorted into lies by the devious; human innocence is often trampled by the powerful.

If that were the entire story, however, how dark, dismal, and depressing life would be: we are born, we suffer, we die. That would be the whole story of our lives in briefest form. There is more, not because of human strength and power, but because of the God of love and life. Despite what we did to Jesus, and what we still often do by disregarding truth and justice, God triumphed in Christ. And in union with God in Christ, humankind emerges victorious. Death does not destroy love, but tests and purifies it. Rejection and hatred kill goodness only here in this passing light; beyond death, goodness and truth shine ever more brightly, as indestructible manifestations of the all-good God. Here evil often triumphs. In God, beyond death, evil has utterly no reality, as divine Love and Truth alone endure.

Attendance at the Holy Week liturgies in our faith communities has been high and active. I have heard many appreciative and kind words about the services over the years here. Frankly, I have been proud of our people for attending in body and mind. I notice that especially the members of St. Mary’s, Raynesford, attend in a high proportion. Those who attend faithfully seem to have learned well that these liturgies are for them, and that they do indeed have the attitude of the Apostle Thomas: “Let us go up to die with Jesus.” These Christians understand well that the greater the death, the greater the life; the more one gives up self to enter into Christ, the more one truly and joyfully lives.

"Unless The Grain Of Wheat Falls And Dies..."

There is, no doubt, much in each of our lives that we would not have chosen, and may not like. No human being always gets just what he or she wants in this world. Much comes our way that is, frankly, a “hard pill to swallow” at the time: death of a loved one; loss of a spouse or friend; serious illness that deprives one of functioning; loss of employment, public scandal or disgrace; rejection in some form; betrayal by someone we thought was our friend; and so much more. Misfortune, even agony, comes to each and to all. The question is: How will you handle so much suffering in life? We often cannot change what happens to us, but we can always change our response to it, our attitudes, actions, and through changing them, change our feelings, too. Usually such a process takes time. For saintly men and women, hardship and loss are accepted quickly, and one’s peace is restored, as one is centered in God. For most of us, accepting and dealing with loss and hardship takes time, and thought, and perhaps some sleepless nights, and finally “letting go” and accepting reality for what it is. As Jesus asked Saul of Tarsus (St. Paul): “How long will you kick against the thorns?”

It is probably the case that Jesus could have spared himself Roman torture, just as Socrates could have fled from Athens, and saved his life. Both men allowed themselves to be put to death for a far greater cause then their own life. Each saw himself as a true Representative of humanity, and a man with a mission from God Himself. Jesus did not take his torture and death as the end, but as a means to achieve far greater good. To his disciples and to the Gentiles, embodied by some Greeks, Jesus announces his intention and acceptance on the edge of death: The Son of man’s time has come. “Truly I tell you, unless the grain of wheat falls into earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.” As Socrates died for the honor and success of philosophy, Jesus died to bring human beings to God. His death would be his greatest act of love, and proof of the reality of his life and love: “No one has greater love than this, to lay down his life for his friends.” For us, he died. But at the same time, Jesus extends the invitation to each of us: “He who loves his life loses it, but he who hates his life in this world keeps it for eternal life” (Jn 12). That means, among other things: Whoever clings to himself, and what is his or hers, loses what they have, and even their very self; but whoever surrenders himself to God in love, as Jesus did, preserves his being for eternal life.

Death accepted brings renewed life. A life loved at any cost—“I will do whatever it takes, and say whatever I need to say to clear my name”—is already a living death. The man in love with himself more than with goodness, truth, God, is spiritually diseased, and bound to die. The one who lives in acceptance of God’s will, God’s way—even when it costs one everything—is truly alive now, and will in God’s time “bear much fruit.” No one has been nearly as fruitful in human history as the relatively obscure man from Nazareth.

Thanksgiving And A Monument To A Good Man

Walt Osterman died on 3 March. His death is a painful loss for his family, for his friends, for St. Mark’s parish. Family and friends can share their thoughts and feelings as and when they wish, and I will reflect on how much Walt meant to me as a personal friend in the silence of my heart. As pastor of St. Mark’s, I must share a few words in public about Walt’s extraordinary and largely unsung service to our parish family.

I never had to ask Walt to help. He just did. And his good works, often hidden from the public eye, received little acknowledgment or praise. When I was new to St. Mark’s, I publicly thanked Walt for cutting the grass, and he politely asked me not do so again. Week after week, he cut the grass around St. Mark’s and the rectory. In the winter, he cleared the walks. All of the wood for our rectory was supplied by Walt, who bought it, cut it up, and delivered it to me. He would set up for the Knights’ breakfasts, and open up the hall early, make coffee, crack eggs, cook, clean up. He helped to count offerings. And so much more. Walt the humble worker, as I praised him in the funeral homily.

And far more can be said. Walt was a quiet man, self-contained, highly responsible. He did not need to be asked to work. He knew what to do, and did it. He was so available, such a willing worker, that I now think that some of us really took Walt and his work for granted. Although I thanked him in private—and sincerely meant it—still, I took Walt too much for granted. (Note: Walt did not even want to be thanked in private, as I learned to recognize). Now I miss Walt very much. He was such a blessing to the whole parish and to the priests who served here. On behalf of the priests and parishioners Walt blessed with his friendship and faithful service, I say: Thank you, dear brother in Christ, for all you have done for us. For having taken you too much for granted, I ask forgiveness, and invite you to pray to God that we all have the eyes of our hearts opened up to see what needs to be done, and to be more willing to pitch in. Even more, Walt, pray that we not take each other for granted, but truly appreciate what these good and dedicated parishioners do for all of us.”

I thought it good to build some kind of monument to Walt at St. Mark’s. Now I know the monument that is fitting. Other than placing his name on a bench near the statue of Mary, there is a far better monument to Walt, one more fitting to this humble worker: The monument I want us to build is a community in which more of us give of ourselves for the benefit of others. Some of our members do great service, and it is voluntary and unpaid, and I will not now mention their names. Believe me, you who help so freely and generously, your efforts are much appreciated. May Walt inspire more of our members to come forward and use our hands, our bodies, our hearts to work for all in our parishes. We have gifts. Let’s use them generously. Such service is the best monument to a remarkable man, Walt A. Osterman. In honor of Walt, as the best monument to such a good man, let us humbly work for the benefit of each other.

"I AM The LORD Your God, Who Brought You Out Of Egypt"

The Law is far more than law. The Law of Moses, especially the priceless words known as “the 10 Commandments,” are not primarily a list of “do’s and don’ts,” as parents may post on the refrigerator to remind their teenage children of household rules. We repeat: there is far more to the 10 commandments than mere “law.” The Law of Moses is God’s covenant with His people, the way of life, the sealing of the bond between YHWH and His chosen ones. The Decalogue given by God through his servant Moses is a magnificent gift of God for all times, all places, and ultimately, all peoples who will attend. But above all, the Law is given to the People of God, Israel, binding them to Yahweh-God forever.

In their exuberant joy at the discovery of life in Christ Jesus, the early disciples, who were Jews, seem to have disparaged the Law. This is especially true of the Apostle Paul and the Evangelist John. Paul writes, “I through the Law died to the Law, that I might live to God,” and for Paul, at his time in Jewish history, the Law had become a burden and a mere list of “do’s and don’ts.” The joy of being in covenant with God, the life found in the Covenant with the Law, had been largely lost. Indeed, the evangelist John writes late in the first century: “The Law came through Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus Christ” (Gospel of John, ch 1). Well, properly understood, the Law of Moses is God’s grace and truth to His people who receive it as gift, and who respond with joyful gratitude. Again, the problem the early Church had with the Law was historical: men had overlaid so much tradition on the glorious Law that they no longer could see “the wood for the trees,” but were oppressed under the taskmaster of needless details, rituals, exacting rules that no one could follow and fully obey. The thrill of the Law was gone.

The Law of Moses is essentially different. It is not burdensome, but a gift. God begins with giving Himself to His people, before awaiting a response: “I AM Yahweh (the LORD) your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of bondage. Therefore: You shall have no other gods…You shall not murder…You shall not lie about your neighbor,” and so on. The Law provides for harmony and peace within a tight and life-giving community. In effect, by giving the Law, God throws a marriage robe over His people. How many Christians focus on the first words God speaks here, and appreciate the gift: “I AM…your God,” who delivered you from Egypt.

You may say, “But I was not in Egypt.” No? You have never experienced oppression and hardship, and bondage to your own desires, whims, addictions, impulses? You have never experienced life apart from the true God? If and only if one experiences liberation through trust in the LORD, will one understand the life-giving power of God’s will and Law. To do God’s will is life and peace.

Second Sunday Of Lent: Preparing To Burn Sins

The best Lenten offering by far is to give God ourselves with our sins, with a firm intention to not keep wallowing in sin. How could any other offerings to God compare, when we are still stewing in our sins? There are several ways to offer God our sins, with purpose of amendment of life: At every Eucharist, as we attend, we can and should invite the Holy Spirit to search our heart, to make each of us aware of the wrong we are personally doing, and move us to change. In prayer, each of us must do the same thing daily: “LORD, you search me and you know me.  Help me to know myself as You know me, and to come clean in your Presence.” Furthermore, we offer the Sacrament of Reconciliation for those who intend to be changed by grace and by your free choices. In addition, twice a year we offer a public action of burning our sins: Each of us must think about what we have done wrong, or failed to do right; scribble them down in some form, and bring our sins to the fire we prepare in each parish next week-end. Be attentive, for this is crucial: What seems to be lacking in many of us is a searching and fearless self-examination of how we are living, how we ignore God, ways in which we deceive ourselves and others. We often examine ourselves superficially. Whether in the confessional, in discussions, and surely by examining my own life and failures, this truth becomes obvious: Most of us do not know how to examine our lives in real depth in order to root our sin and wrong-doing. We quickly glance at ourselves, and come with a few sentences to mutter, as if this serves as a real heartfelt self-examination. We toss in a few pennies of sin, and keep the big bucks of evil doing. What can and should one do? Make a list of serious wrong-doing or wrongful attitudes, and ask yourself: How have I harmed others by these actions? What effects do these sins have in my life, in my character, in what I think, say, and do? How am I contributing to the sufferings of others by the way I live? Looking back over my life, what patterns emerge and recur? Am I willing to make amends to those whom I have harmed, cheated, deceived, used for my own pleasure?  If God were to call me to account right now—and God ever seeks to bring us into the light of His righteous judgment and mercy—what would show up? What evil clings to me?  What evils am I clinging to, am I afraid to renounce here and now?  Such a fearless inventory is and ought to be an important part of Lent.