A Hike on Holy Saturday

On Holy Saturday, I took a hike with my children.  It was a mild day, and as we wound around a well-beaten trail, I was surprised by all the death and decay around us.  It has been so cold here in the northeast that signs of spring are still few and far between.  There were tiny buds on some of the trees, a few hardy plants had greened up, and several clumps of early-spring daffodils looked cheerful.  But for the most part, the woods remained dead and dormant, waiting for something to happen.

It was meaningful, considering the day, and the expectation we feel on that strange and holy day.  Signs of a long hard winter were everywhere, but I knew the dead leaves under our feet would break down and fertilize the soil, which would bring forth life.  Animals would take refuge in and under the trees that had fallen during storms.  Death was itself beautiful, because it anticipated and brought forth life.  An endless winter would lose its beauty – but a winter that leads to spring is tolerable and even lovely – like the body of our Lord in the rocky tomb. 

The woods and the tomb anticipate; they already begin to sing the believer’s triumphant song:  “Death has been swallowed up in victory.  Where, O Death, is your victory?  Where, O Death, is your sting?” (1 Cor. 15:54-55)

I Have Power to Lay It Down

Good Friday

No one takes [my life] from me, but I lay it down of my own accord.  I have power to lay it down, and I have power to take it up again (Jn. 10:18).

Today, when you look upon your Savior on the cross – don’t feel guilty.  It isn’t enough.  Feel elated, feel loved, feel treasured and valuable.  No one takes my life, he said, I lay it down.  I lay it down because I love you, and I want to show you who I am; I will show you who you are; I am showing you who we are together.

Jesus is a victim, but a willing one.  The greatest love is this, he said, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends (Jn. 15:13).  Today, accept the friendship offered by the one on the Cross.  That is one thing that can make today very Good.

One Hour Retreat for Holy Week

Years ago in a course on the Synoptic Gospels, an assignment changed my life.  Fr. Frank Matera instructed us to read the Gospel of Mark – from beginning to end – in one sitting.  Before we began reading, we were to forget everything we thought we knew about Jesus – to set aside all of the deeply-engrained images, long-held presumptions and preconceived ideas we had accumulated over the course of our lives.  Reading Mark’s account, we were to meet Jesus for the first time – to encounter him with open minds in this fast-paced narrative – to be confronted by the radical life and urgent demands of this Jesus of Nazareth.  It was an assignment offered in an academic setting, but it had the potential to transform us at a far deeper level.

There is a general consensus among scholars that Mark’s Gospel was the first of the canonical Gospels to be written.  It is exciting to read a text so ancient and so raw, a text that was almost certainly used as the framework for the Gospels of Matthew and Luke.  I invite you to set aside one hour sometime this week, find a quiet place, and open your Bible to the Gospel of Mark (which is significantly shorter than the other Gospels).  Use your imagination and travel through the narrative with Jesus.  Listen to him, watch him, witness his death.  Be honest with yourself about what he is asking of you.  You are a disciple, and he is your Master.  You will never be the same!

Christ Healing a Leper, by Rembrandt

Christ Healing a Leper, by Rembrandt

How Long We Wait

Ready or not, Lent is upon us!  We can think of Lent as a teacher, a school that we faithfully attend for 40 days in the hope that we will be changed – that we will be altered in some way by what we are taught.  One lesson Lent teaches is the lesson of waiting.

My students and I spent the last six months studying some of the treasures of the Hebrew Bible, leaving me with more appreciation than ever for the amount of time the people of Israel waited patiently for their God to fulfill his promises.  Yes, there were questions, there was confusion, there were times when things looked awfully bleak and murky.  But as a people, they refused to give up on their God who, they believed, would keep every promise, win every battle, and triumph over every evil:

My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?
Why are you so far from helping me, from the words of my groaning?
O my God, I cry by day, but you do not answer;
and by night, but find no rest.

Yet, you are holy,
enthroned on the praises of Israel.
In you our ancestors trusted;
they trusted, and you delivered them.
To you they cried, and were saved;
in you they trusted, and were not put to shame.

This is one of Lent’s lessons.  And of course, it is one of the lessons of the Cross.  God unfailingly keeps his promises.  But sometimes, how long we wait!

The poem “How Long We Wait” by Thomas Merton was given to me years ago by someone who wanted to see me through a time in my life when things seemed upside down and backward.  I’ve treasured it ever since.  The movement and imagery of Merton’s poem helped me understand the beauty of waiting – the perennial questions, posed a million ways, and the prayerful expectations of human longing.  It captures the faith of the Israelites, the life-altering lessons of patient waiting, the joyful expectation of our Lenten longing – we who wait for the Bridegroom to laugh, when the dark is done.