Who is this?

Crucifixion by El Greco*

This week marks the greatest mystery of our faith: Jesus' final days, his suffering, death, and at the end, his resurrection. When you stop to think about it, reason has a dangerous way of taking over.
Really? You are hanging your whole life on the fact that over 2000 years ago a dude was killed and then came back to life three days later, and now is somehow still present in the world through the Holy Spirit and people who believe in him? And because of this you can now have forgiveness and life?
It sounds absurd, really, when you just read it. Yet it is true, and as Martin Luther said, I would stake my life on it a thousand times.

On Sunday, thanks to David Lose and his entry The Question of the Day, I posed the same question to our congregation: Who is this?

Who is this man who rode into town like a king? Who some actually claimed was a king, who performed signed and miracles, who attracted and angered thousands in equal number? For those who cut branches and spread cloaks, this man was their hope. He was for them the Messiah, the anointed one promised by God for centuries to bring new life and salvation to the world. He was the hope of a life without oppression and hunger, where justice and peace both reigned, and peace through terror and tyranny was nonexistent. (Think Pax Romana.)

Yet just a few days after that triumphant entry these same people who had pinned their hopes on this man had turned and instead of crying Hosanna! cried out Crucify!

Who is this man? Who didn't defend himself, who saved others but couldn't save himself from his own terrible fate, who stirred up hope only to let everyone down that terrible Friday afternoon? He was for them a scapegoat, one on whom to take out anger and hatred, whose promise of a new kingdom went rejected, whose body was broken, and who asked forgiveness for those who inflicted his suffering and death.

These are the questions we pondered Sunday during worship. And the worship continues this week as we celebrate the Great Three Days, culminating on Sunday morning with our Easter celebration. The question, however, remains.

Maundy Thursday we hear from John's gospel about Jesus the servant who stoops to wash his disciples' feet and we ask, Who is this?

Good Friday we hear once again about the cross - that ultimate sign of our faith, the sign of God's own suffering, death, and resurrection for the sake of the world, and we ask, Who is this?

Easter Morning we gather with the disciples and hear from the angel that Christ is alive! We hear these words, perhaps in the same way as those first women, with 'fear and great joy' and we find ourselves once again asking, Who is this?

As we enter into the mystery of this week, please ponder this question with me. In my own journey of faith I have answered this question in many different ways, and if I have learned one thing in this mystery, it is that the answer is rarely ever the same. I know that Jesus is the Son of God, the Messiah, the Savior of the world, but exactly how that is played out varies with mysterious regularity. How about for you? Who is this for you?

 *Greco, 1541?-1614. Crucifixion, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. http://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=48044 [retrieved April 15, 2014]. Original source: www.yorckproject.de.

Gain the world and lose my life?

     As we approach Holy Week it feels like time is speeding up, that this Lenten journey which began four weeks ago is somehow accelerating the closer we come to the cross. This week in our gospel from Mark we have a simultaneous confession of faith and betrayal of Jesus' identity.
    Peter boldly declares that Jesus is the Messiah, the Anointed One, the Savior of the world. And at this confession Jesus orders them sternly not to tell anyone. The time had not yet come. But the time was coming for Jesus to reveal exactly what it meant for him to live into his role as Messiah - and it wasn't what the disciples expected. To be the Messiah meant to suffer, to be rejected, to be killed, and then after three days to rise again.
     While Peter boldly confessed Jesus to be the Messiah before, now he turns and tells Jesus that the Messiah does NOT suffer, be rejected, be killed, and then rise again. Surely the Messiah would rise to great glory so that the whole world might come to know God's salvation. Surely the Messiah would enjoy great power and honor and respect fitting a king, especially a king in the line of David. Yet as always, Jesus uses this opportunity to turn everything we know on its head.

If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it. For what will it profit them to gain the whole world and forfeit their life? ~ Mark 8.34-36

As we speed toward our Three Holy Days, the mystery of faith looms before us. How is one to live as a follower of Jesus? What does it mean for us that the one we follow suffered? What can it mean that we are called to deny the self?
     A wonderful Christian artist named TobyMac composed a song based on these verses several years ago, and it is my prayer that the song and the video invite you into living this mystery with me.

The Wilderness Within

     There is a wolf in me ... fangs pointed for tearing gashes ... a red tongue for raw meat ... and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.    

     O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness. 

~ Wilderness by Carl Sandburg

     These are two stanzas from the beautiful poem Wilderness by Carl Sandburg. (You can read the entire poem if you like.)  I love them because they point out a truth that we often ignore, that we try to hide, or do our best to forget. It is the thing of which we are reminded each Ash Wednesday as our Lenten journeys begin - we are made from the dust of the wild. We come from the wilderness.
     This week our focus is on Jesus' journey into the wilderness. The timing of Jesus' journey cannot be accidental - it happens just as he is baptized and emerges from the waters, dripping wet, and sure of God's love for him. It comes at a time when his ministry is fledgling and not really yet begun. It comes at a time when it is essential for Jesus, the Son of God, fully divine, to remember that he is also fully human - made from the dust of the wilderness.

Christ in the Desert - Ivan Nikolaevich Kramskoĭ*

     And so he goes, led by the Spirit into the wilderness, an account we read about in Matthew 4. (You can also read about in all of the other gospels as this is one of the few texts included in all four.) According to Matthew's gospel, the Spirit sends Jesus there 'to be tempted by the devil.' It is no wonder Jesus included in his teaching that we ought to pray that the Spirit doesn't 'lead us into temptation'!
     Jesus had been through it - 40 days of fasting and being tempted with the challenge of his authority as God's son: If you are God's son, prove it and turn these stones to bread... 40 days of bone-wearying survival in a desert wilderness and being tempted with the challenge of God's willingness to become human: If you are God, prove it and throw yourself off the building... 40 days of solitude save the company of the wild animals and being tempted with the challenge of his power: If you, human, really want to rule just worship me and all this will be yours...
     Each part of Jesus' temptation had to do with the fact that he was really, truly, human. Made from the dust of the wilderness where he was exiled those 40 days. Made from the dust of the wilderness the Israelites were exiled those 40 years. Made of the same dust from which we are made. And it seems as if this wilderness dust is somehow in tension with the water-Spirit of which children of God are born. 
     Remember baptism is a new birth, the beginning of a new life not lived in the flesh, but in the Spirit. The age old battle between our carnal desires born in the wilderness and the Spirit-filled lives of God's children rages every day. Along with Carl Sandburg I can honestly say 'there is a wolf in me.' Within me is the capacity to destroy and tear down, to kill and maim, to prey and stalk. Yet, like Jesus, I am also a child of God. Born of water and Spirit. And the wolf in me constantly lives in tension and is tempted to prove - that I am good, worthy, special. To prove that I am talented, competent, and intelligent. To prove that I am 'living the dream' and happy about it.
     These verses from Matthew have left me pondering the mystery of wilderness. Is wilderness all about place? Is it all about circumstance? Or is wilderness something I have - something I am - something that is part of my DNA? Is the real threat of wilderness from within my own being?

*Kramskoĭ, Ivan Nikolaevich, 1837-1887. Christ in the Desert, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. http://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=54297 [retrieved March 19, 2014]. Original source: http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Kramskoi_Christ_dans_le_d%C3%A9sert.jpg.

Mirror, mirror...

While we've known all winter that spring would be around the corner, it feels like we are finally seeing signs of the promised new life after the long, cold, and dark winter. The snow is melting, the sun is shining, and it is getting warmer. This in itself is enough to make any of us upper-mid-westerners break out in a song of praise, and that's exactly what I saw someone doing as they went outside for the first time yesterday morning. They literally started singing, face and hands up in the air, drinking in the warmth and sunshine.
     We are now in chapter 22 of The Story, which happens to be the first chapter of the New Testament. It is all about the birth of Jesus, stories we are accustomed to hearing in December and Advent. Yet here it is - March and Lent, and we have the birth of Jesus. Which may be exactly just what we need, because like those people I saw burst into spontaneous songs of joy yesterday, our text is from Luke 1 and Mary, the mother of Jesus, spontaneously bursts into a song of praise for what God has done.
     This song of praise often referred to as The Magnificat, is a glorious song that focuses on the work of God in the world saying that God has:

The Visitation - Mary and Elizabeth Meet*

• looked with favor on the lowly
• given favor to those who fear God
• shown strength
• scattered the proud
• brought down the powerful
• lifted up the lowly
• filled the hungry with good things
• sent the rich away empty
• helped God's servant Israel

What a list of God's deeds! No wonder Mary begins to spontaneously burst into a song of praise. And the curious thing about this song is that she recites it when she visits her cousin Elizabeth, after the angel Gabriel has announced that she will give birth to God's son.
     When we hear these words in Advent we look with hope for how God's coming among us in the flesh will make all of these things that God has done come to pass. The focus is on the future impact of God's work in Jesus. Yet we are in Lent, and so we read these words with a different lens.
     During this time of Lent, these words invite us to ponder how, because of what God has done for us in Jesus, we are partners with God in making these things come about. As we contemplate our own relationship with God, our own spiritual health and well-being, our own way of living our faith and love, this song of praise becomes something like a mirror.
     When you look in the mirror do you see someone through whom God is working? Do you see someone God uses to lift up the lowly or fill the hungry with good things? Do you see someone who works to bring down the powerful and send the rich away empty through justice and advocacy? This week I am pondering how this song reflects, or sadly how it often doesn't reflect my own life of faith.
     Into what does Mary's song of praise invite you? How does it challenge you to live and to, like Mary, open your own life to God's work so that God's salvation can be shown in and through you? Even as we stand convicted of our own shortfalls, we remember how Mary's song starts
 ‘My soul magnifies the Lord,
   and my spirit rejoices in God my Saviour,
for he has looked with favour on the lowliness of his servant.
God has seen us in our lowliness, and God has sent us a companion in our journeys of faith. May this Lent be a time for us to ponder the mystery of God's gracious forgiveness and mercy, even as we continue to strive to live as God's beloved children in this world.

*JESUS MAFA. The Visitation - Mary and Elizabeth meet, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. http://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=48279 [retrieved March 11, 2014].