The week in review 3

Holy Week 2014.

Of course rating Holy Week without Easter is like gaining the calories without eating the pie. So writing on Good Friday is a bit unfair, but we'll hit Easter next week.

Stillness: Recalling God's Presence

I definitely felt God's presence today, in an unusual place, honestly. For all the speechifying I heard today, it was the words and melody of O Sacred Head Now Wounded that nailed me to the floor this week. Not that I didn't appreciate the words of Mike Neil at the Kiwanis Prayer breakfast this morning, or the seven OSLC elders who shared thoughts on seven words of Good Friday at Tennebrae, but it was the hymn well-sung by the congregation, well-accompanied by Gerod, Diane and the band and harmonized by the choir that drove it home.

Gratitude: Expressing Thankfulness 

I'm thankful I heard from my daughter today. It's strange, and a little unnerving not to hear from your kid. For five days. While she's in Spain. On Spring Break. At a place where Britons are notoriously stupid. But she surfaced today, tired, but happy.

Reflection: Looking Back on Your Day 

I did a lot of driving today! Odd that. Drove the 15 miles to Bethany Baptist for the breakfast; drove back home. Was just about to take a nap when daughter called with tales of Spring Break. Took a nap. Went to get my hair re-cut; drove back home. Went to lunch at Shogun and the mall for Sees candy. Drove back home. Did an errand for last minute groceries for our Sunday meal (challa for French Toast!); drove back home. Drove another 12 miles back out to church for Good Friday service; drove back home. Happily, I made a lot of headway into Eusebius. (I have his History on audiobook, and made quite a dent.) Very good day.

Sorrow: Asking for Forgiveness

If you can't think of a thing to ask for forgiveness on Good Friday you're just not trying. This day is all about realizing the part each of us - including Tim Ihssen - plays in nailing Christ to the cross. My lies and thievery drove those nails a little deeper. Father, forgive me, for I know exactly what I'm doing.

Hopefulness: Resolving to Grow

I know I'm being flip, but after a disastrous hair cut, I'm resolving to grow my hair back as quick as I can. It drives home the point that I should have never cut my hair in the first place. Of all the traits I want to thank my parents for - blue eyes, healthy body, good work habits - I'll not be thanking whoever gave me a cowlick. I think it's dad, but I'm no geneticist. After yesterday's cut, both the stylist and I felt uneasy. She said, "That bugs me," but we let it go. I preached last night, but never really got it right (luckily, my tie was backward for most of the sermon, so no one was looking at my hair). So I decided to give her another crack at it and she agreed. If anything, it's worse. It was to the point where I thought about wearing a hat to church. My wife frantically put product after product in my hair just to get it manageable. Then I get there and sit in the second row, because no one sits in the first row. Except my most stylish youth group member, Emily! There were little cards in our bulletin, where we could confess our sins, and she passed hers to me saying, "I made fun of Tim's hair cut."

It's that bad. If I believed that kind of thing, I'd say God was punishing me for my part in his son's death by giving me the worst hair cut ever.

I forgave her and told her to sin no more.

God bless your week, and remember to pray for a time between now and Sunday.

Wholly Weak

Things are poppin' around OSLC this week, this Holy Week, this week when the other days get a whiff of greatness.
Sundays, of course, are God's day, a day we are to keep the Sabbath Wholly, to borrow a book title from Marva Dawn. Wednesdays are the unofficial Church Day Honored by Absolutely No One Anymore. Not bitter, just noticing. Regardless, Ash Wednesday kicked off the season of Lent way back in February, and the day before that is Shrove Tuesday.
But during Holy Week, Thursday, Friday and Saturday step up to bat to take their place in the divine pantheon, leaving only Monday to be a day with no redeeming value. Ever. The only day we worship on Mondays is every seven years or so when Christmas or Christmas Eve lands on its God-forsaken day.
So this week, we have Maundy Thursday, Good Friday and Holy Saturday, leading up to Easter Sunday.
Maundy Thursday (pronounced by everyone as Monday Thursday, which just seems to be slagging on Monday once again) is taken from the Latin mandatum, or commandment, because it is the day in which we remember that Christ changed everything old into something new and improved - he gave us a new commandment to love one another as God has loved us. When I was a non-traditional whipper snapper, I suggested to my internship pastor that we change the words of institution (heaven forfend!) to read, "Our Lord Jesus Christ, on the night when he gave a new commandment, took bread...." I said, "It's more positive!" I'm not convinced I'm wrong, but I do look back and wonder how anyone could stand me. This year OSLC has two (2!) Maundy Thursday services; one is an elaborate Seder meal, all courses and education included, for $25. It's sold out! (I sense a youth fund raiser for next year...) That's at 6. Then at 7, there's a free Maundy Thursday service in which I'm preaching. You get what you pay for. That's all I'll say about that. Though I am excited to continue the dramatic MT service that we've enjoyed for the past five years or so (has G-rod been here that long?). I'll be lucky if I don't get stoned.
Good Friday is always an outstanding service, featuring seven elders doing 2.5 minute homilies for each of the seven words on the cross. This is the Tennebrae service (that's right - the one with the loud bang.) My wife and I commemorate the death of our savior on the cross by eating Mexican. There's absolutely no significance to that, it's just something we started doing and continue to do because most great traditions are very silly.
My favorite part of Holy Week starts on Good Friday - our prayer vigil. We pray continually from noon Good Friday to noon on Easter. We used to haul people out of bed at three in the morning Fri and Sat night, but we've caved to culture and allowed people to pray in their jammies. I usually anchor the prayer team by praying right up until the sunrise service; I'll be there again, doing my text-prayers for the second year. Mostly to East Coast friends who would hopefully be up by then...
Holy Saturday, in the ancient church, was the time when new Christians were baptized, late at night, so that when they came out of the underground cavern - I know, wouldn't that be cool? - they would arise along with Jesus into new life. We have it at 6 pm. I don't know if we're going to use our new fountain or not, but it's always an awesome service. We have four baptisms slated.
And of course the wonder and majesty of Easter, the time when fasts end and celebrations begin!
By the end of Holy Week, your hard-workin' staff will be wholly weak.
Maybe I'll give up puns for Lent one year.
And there would be great rejoicing. Maybe that will be the same year the powers that be declare that along with all the other days, we'll celebrate Manic Monday.

Good Friday parable

“Surely He took up our infirmities and carried our sorrows, yet we considered Him stricken by God, smitten by Him, and afflicted. But He was pierced for our transgressions, He was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was upon Him, and by His wounds we are healed. We all, like sheep, have gone astray, each of us has turned to his own way; and the LORD has laid on Him the iniquity of us all.”
Isaiah 53:4-6

The wolf saw the bear before the hunter did. In fact, the hunter didn’t see the bear at all. The hunter was not a great friend of the wolf, but the bear was an enemy of both. The wolf saw, from his place on an outcrop of rock, that the bear was making straight for the hunter, but that it had to cross the wolf’s path to get to the man, who was underdressed in a ball cap, jeans sweater and leather gloves.

The wolf knew the bear would make short work of the man, who was busy at something in the middle of a clearing, paying no attention to his surroundings. The wolf had a decision to make: stay uninvolved and let nature take its course, as it were, or enter a fight that was not his own for the sake of a weaker animal, with the potential of serious harm to himself. For although he would have the surprise factor on the bear, and a superior position, a fight with a bear rarely leaves a wolf unscathed.

The bear was building up steam, sniffing the air, puffing out great clouds of cold air when the wolf was suddenly upon him. The bear was so startled that it had no time to roar, because the wolf was immediately at its throat, and had him down on the ground. The bear reached for the wolf, but its claws hit nothing but air as it struggled against the darkness. The wolf and the bear lay still for awhile, and just as the wolf thought he was out of danger, the bear’s back claws reached the wolf’s hide and ripped. The wolf yelped with pain, but held the bear’s neck fast, getting a new and better grip, and held on until the great bear was lifeless.

The wolf struggled along the path, and made his way over to the man, to assure him that the danger was past. He saw the man on the other side of the clearing, startled at the wolf’s presence, but suddenly pleased. The man crouched down, in supplication, summoning the wolf with a wave of his hand. Here was a new thing, the wolf thought, a man and a wolf, friends at last. He made his way across the clearing, but as he took a step in the center, two metal jaws clamped around his paw.

The pain was incredible, and he knew three things at once – 1) his paw was useless; 2) his life as king of the woods was over; and 3) the man had done this to him.

The man watched the wolf walk in circles for awhile, watching the snow around the trap gradually get pinker and pinker with the wolf’s blood. The man got bored watching the wolf dying after awhile, and then got busy setting something on a tree stump near the edge of the clearing. He took his gloves off to touch some buttons, and finally he was ready. The wolf, tongue lolling out of his mouth, near death, walking in circles relentlessly, looked up just as the self-timer on the man’s camera went off.

"Father forgive them, for they know not what they do."

A few moments later, after suffering at the hands of the one he saved, the wolf died in the pink snow.

(Just so I'm not misunderstood - this is a real photo taken by the hunter pictured here. I came up with the parable when I saw it, and imagined what might have occurred beforehand. Obviously, a wolf is not going to take on a bear, so I'm applying for a poetic license here.

Regardless, this picture's posting sparked an outrage, which you can read about here: http://www.idahostatesman.com/2012/04/05/2064017/idaho-wolf-trappers-smiling-photo.html)