Holy Week and Broken Community

 I heard today from my wife that the pastor of her church plans to invite me back to the church this Good Friday and Easter. Faith is best observed, best celebrated in community.

I get that. I agree with that view. Heck, I endorse it.

But please tell that to the people who broke the community, not to the people who kept getting hurt on the jagged edges where they broke it.

I was a part of Point Community Church for 16 years. For years I attended faithfully, pitched in when asked, and expressed an interest in becoming an elder, in leading a Bible study community group, in starting a drama ministry, in reaching out to the communities our church served. It wasn't I who turned a cold shoulder to those offers of time and talent.

When the church's lead and founding pastor left, I expressed an interest in joining the search effort and offered to contribute professional experience and knowledge to the search. I wasn't the one to ignore the offer without a word of explanation. That was the elders.

When I pointed out that the silence was rude, I wasn't the one who apologized for my feelings instead of the offensive behavior. That was Howie.

When I decided I was done with being ignored but wanted to follow the example of Christ in seeking a reconciliation by expressing the wrong done and inviting the elders into a dialogue so bridges could be repaired and they could avoid the same mistakes going forward, I wasn't the one to send a brush-off that showed zero interest in discussion, in reconciliation or mending what had been broken.

That was the elders again, in a one-line email sent and signed by Steve D.

Holy Week is here. It's a time of forgiveness, for reconciliation. 

You want forgiveness? To the extent it can be given without being sought and asked for, it's yours. Giving sixteen years to a church only to get ignored cuts deep. and wounds don't heal by leaving the knife in them. But I forgive you. I owe my soul that much.

But reconciliation? Mending the community? Talk to the people who tore it apart, not the one who'd had enough of it.

I didn't ignore people when they had ideas or offered to help with ministries where they had experience, knowledge and enthusiasm.

Lent: Celebrate

 A few weeks ago at a therapy workshop intensive I met Ron. Ron is about 25 years my senior, and he revealed that his wife is receiving chemotherapy in her fight against cancer. He discovered that I'm a cancer survivor, he asked me for tips on dealing with it.

"Beer," I said. "Lots of it." He laughed appreciatively. and I said more truthfully that I'd found it helpful to keep a sense of humor, even if it's a dark sort of gallows humor that other people don't get. He acknowledged the legitimacy of humor in rough times, we talked about his wife and how they've both been coping. and then break ended and we started talking more about psychodrama.

Two days later we explored Ron's situation in a psychodrama act, and I understood  how badly I'd failed him with my trite answer.

"I realized during the play that I misunderstood you," I said. "You weren't asking me how to deal with cancer. You were asking me how to deal with grief and loss. the answer is, you lean into it."

The fact is we're all mortal, but the sad truth is that we spend most of our life in denial. Coming face to face with death, whether it's by finding an unexpected lump during a mammogram, a near-miss, or a devastating injury or loss, is something that teaches us to number our days correctly.

You no longer put off that trip until next year. You go this weekend.

You stop waiting for a special occasion. Today is special.

You stop taking people granted. You say "I love you" every chance you can, you bury the hatchet and make peace before resentment sets in. You savor bedtime stories, phone calls and sunsets because they're fleeting and won't come back around for a second try.

You stop trying for the golden ring and you decide just to enjoy the carousel while it lasts. You live each day like it's your last because you never know. It just might.

It's Lent, and you are mortal.

Celebrate.

Lent: Spoken

I I wonder what it was like when God spoke to his people in the ancient times.

Was it like you see in revival services, when the preacher has the crowd so whipped up that you can see what is coming, coming a mile away? Amid the whooping and hollering there falls a sudden stillness as people gasp for breath like a goldfish at the top of the bowl. Eyes unprepared for the sight of glory roll back in people's heads. Men and women fall to the floor in a heavenly swoon as they are brushed with the wings of angels. Now there comes a loud cry like a woman giving birth, and in the silence that follows, a voice speaks.

"Hear, O hear, you rebellious and stiff-necked people, the word of the Lord."

Is that what it is like? Or is it more like the hushed and measured tones of a parent speaking to an exasperating child? "I am your mother," the voice says, "and I need you to listen to me."

It is spoken. 

When the Word of the Lord arrives, that's how it comes: directly from the lips and straight to the ears. The word is conceived, the word is spoken, and the word is heard. Listen, or you may miss it and have nothing left but the recollection of what others think they heard.

"Hear the Word of the Lord," the prophet begins, and that's our cue. Creation is not set on runes that God has carved  into the side of a mountain; it is brought into existence by the power of a word that is spoken. 

Rarely does Scripture contain the phrase "Write this down, O Son of Man," and when it does the words are set down for future generations to study. More typically the decision to write is taken at the initiative of the prophet, and surely even though the writing conveys some of the glory, think what it must be like actually to hear the words themselves.

"Let there be light." The words are spoken, and light separates from darkness; and there is evening, and there is morning, the first day.

"My spirit shall not contend with man forever, his days shall be 120 years." The words are spoken, and 120 years later, right on schedule, it starts to rain. Terror builds in the cities of the world as the rivers leave their banks, but the rains just keep coming.

"The spirit of the Lord is upon to me, to bring good news to the poor and to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor." 

The word is spoken.

The world begins to change.