This is an odd little story, so memorable, so remarkable, but not one we ordinarily hear on Maundy Thursday. It’s told four times throughout the gospels, but never with the same exact cast of characters, and not always with the same point.

But tonight, let’s hear this story. And let’s honor this woman, because that is what Jesus wants us to do: to tell this story, in memory of her…

Image: “Anointing at Bethany,” from the Chapel of the House of the Christian Encounter (Capella della Casa Incontri Cristiano), Capiago, Italy.

We have been circling the cross all throughout Lent. Beginning on the first Sunday when we found Jesus in the wilderness, we have been pondering its meanings and its mystery. We have understood Jesus’ death on the cross as wilderness journey, as Passover, or as ransom, as redemption. Did Jesus offer himself as a holy sacrifice, both priest and victim? Or did he achieve atonement through substitution? We have even pondered the notion that the cross was his moment of triumph—Christ the victor over sin and death.

Today, we ponder another possibility…

Petts, John, 1914-1991. Christ Crucified, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. http://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=57342 [retrieved January 30, 2021]. Original source: http://christianchurchestogether.org/letter-from-birmingham-jail/.

You are my portion, O Lord,
I have promised to keep your words.
I entreat you with all my heart:
Be merciful to me, according to your promise.
~Psalm 119:57-58

Image c) P. Raube

I am haunted by that question Jesus asks in our gospel passage. He’s been talking to his disciples about what’s coming, and it’s coming fast. Jesus is already in Jerusalem for the Passover, it’s the week we know as Holy Week, and what’s coming is the cross. And he asks, “What should I say—‘Father, save me from this hour’?”

He says that in the other gospels—in so many words. “Father, let this cup pass from me.” But John’s gospel is different, and here, Jesus doesn’t want to say those words. But even in refuting them, he says them, and I’m so glad. Because I need the humanity of Jesus to show through. We need his humanity, side by side with, inextricable from, his divinity. His humanity is what makes all this so powerful and awful. His humanity is what makes his death meaningful. Important. Central to our understanding of what God is all about…

Image: “A Choice” by Lauren Wright Pittman

Pittman, Lauren Wright. A Choice, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. http://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=57082 [retrieved January 30, 2021]. Original source: http://www.lewpstudio.com - copyright by Lauren Wright Pittman.

Give thanks to the Lord, for the Lord is good,
for God’s mercy endures forever.
Let the redeemed of the Lord proclaim
That God redeemed them from the hand of the foe.
~Psalm 107:1-2

Image: P. Raube

We have what is, honestly, one of the weirder passages from scripture today, side by side with one of the most beloved. And the reason they are side by side, is, they are connected. Jesus makes the connection, in his conversation with the Pharisee Nicodemus.

Nicodemus was a good man, though he was uncertain about Jesus, which is why he chose to visit in the middle of the night. Their conversation was wide-ranging, but at a certain point, Jesus made a startling statement. He said, “Just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in him may have eternal life.”

Jesus is talking about about being lifted up on the cross, and as he does, be brings in this story from the wilderness wanderings of his people. A story, frankly, in which God has kind of had it with them.

Fantoni, Giovanni. Brazen Serpent, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. http://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=55664 [retrieved January 30, 2021]. Original source: http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Brazen_Serpent_Sculpture.jpg.

How dear to me is your dwelling,
O Lord of hosts!
My soul has a desire and longing for the courts of the Lord.
My heart and my flesh rejoice in the living God.
~Psalm 84:1-2

Image: c) P. Raube

God sees our suffering, and God’s plan from the beginning of creation is to come among us in Jesus. God has already ordained the means by which we may draw near.

And in just a few minutes, we will be gathered virtually around the table of grace, the table where we hear Jesus say, every time we pull up a seat, “This is my body, given for you. This is my blood, poured out for you.” Jesus offers himself, and God accepts this offering as perfect.

There are many kinds of sacrifice; many offerings we make in the course of showing love and hospitality to one another. One of the petitions in my Daily Prayer book gives thanks for “those who have made sacrifices on my behalf,” which, of course, leads me to think of my parents, and the things they gave up so that I could have piano lessons and sailing lessons, and so that I could have a good education and a great start in life. And I think of the young girl, my birth mother, who gave up a semester of college so that I could have my first good start in life, who gave of her body and blood for me. All offerings, given in love and hospitality…

Image: c) P. Raube

The heavens declare the glory of God;
and the sky proclaims its Maker’s handiwork.
One day tells its tale to another,
and one night imparts knowledge to another.
~Psalm 19:1-2

Image: c) P. Raube

That (my foray into S & H Green Stamps) was the first time I’d ever heard that word, by the way. Redeem. Technically, I’m sure it had been said in church, so I’d probably had heard it before. But if I thought of it at all, it was in the big, vague category of Church Words, and I hadn’t really worried about what it meant. But once the Green Stamps were part of the picture I came to understand: when you redeemed something, you bought it, or you traded something for it. It was an exchange, or a purchase or a barter.

We use those terms, “redeem” and “redemption,” a lot in popular culture. Movies and TV shows often have a “redemption arc” for characters who start out seeming, well, irredeemable… as if they are too thoroughly corrupted, or maybe, too badly broken, to find any fragments of goodness in themselves. But in the end, sometimes, they do—they are redeemed. They find enough goodness within to make a new start.

The idea of redemption or ransom is one of the many ways Christians have understood the crucifixion throughout our history…

Image: Bazzi Rahib, Ilyas Basim Khuri. Christ Teaching the Disciples, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. http://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=56626 [retrieved January 30, 2021]. Original source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Jesus_teaching_his_disciples.jpg.

I will cry aloud to God,
I will cry aloud and God will hear me.
In the day of my trouble I sought the Lord;
my hands were stretched out by night, and did not tire;
I refused to be comforted.

~Psalm 77:1-2

Image: c) P. Raube.

This morning I opened my prayer book, and there it was, in the Thanksgiving for Baptism for Lent. A prayer I’ve read every day during Lent for the past three years, since I got the new, updated Presbyterian Daily Prayer Book. It read,

O God, we give you thanks
for the mercy you so freely offer us through our baptism—
safe passage through the sea,
justice rolling down like water,
deliverance from sin and death forever.

And there it was. The saving action of Jesus on the cross, connected to the exodus of enslaved people from Egypt, connected to justice for those who were oppressed. And just in time for this Lenten journey we are embarking on together: a deep dive into our understanding of the crucifixion.

Image: Kramskoĭ, Ivan Nikolaevich, 1837-1887. Christ in the Wilderness, 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 January 30, 2021]. Original source: http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Kramskoi_Christ_dans_le_d%C3%A9sert.jpg.

We begin with the shrillest of voices. Blow the shofar, our text says, referring to the ritual ram’s horn used to announce the movements or victories of armies, or maybe the anointing of a king. Blow the shofar, the prophet insists, but not for any of those reasons. “The Day of the Lord” is coming, they announce. “Tremble.”

Following on verses describing an advancing army of locusts, who will run up walls, and darken the moon and the sun, is this threat: God will speak. The Lord will utter the divine voice, and it will be great and terrible—who, in the end, can endure it?

And after this terrifying vision, the voice calms. No longer shrill, it becomes the voice of a mother, entreating a child to be good…

Image: Moyers, Mike. Ash, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. http://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=57140 [retrieved January 30, 2021]. Original source: Mike Moyers, https://www.mikemoyersfineart.com/.

The month of January was named by the ancient Romans for their god Janus, the god of beginnings and endings. And also the god, therefore, of transitions, gateways, doorways and time. Janus was the god who looked both backwards and forwards, so he was depicted as having two faces, so that he could do both at the same time…

We are looking back, but we are also looking forward. And as we do so, we can look to Simeon and Anna, whose eyes are trained to look for the fullness of the promises of God.

Image: Swanson, John August. Presentation in the Temple, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. http://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=56557 [retrieved November 23, 2020]. Original source: www.JohnAugustSwanson.com - copyright 1988 by John August Swanson.

…This has been a year of waiting. Waiting for the Covid crisis to subside, waiting for a vaccine to arrive, waiting for the outcome of the presidential election—and for those of us in this part of New York, for the outcome of a congressional election, too. And now we have entered a season of a different kind of waiting, waiting for the calendar to move to a particular date that will not be moved back, that will come when expected—but which also draws our attention to the other things for which we continue to wait.

The Dutch priest Henri Nouwen gave a lot of thought to this problem, in a meditation called, “Waiting for God.” Nouwen wrote,

In our personal lives, waiting is not a very popular pastime. Waiting is not something we anticipate or experience with great joy and gladness! In fact, most people consider waiting a waste of time. Perhaps this is because the culture in which we live is basically saying, Get going. Do something. Show you are able to make a difference. Don’t just sit there, and wait…

Image: Annunciation by Dante Gabriel Rossetti, 1849-1850

Where are you finding joy?

I believe it’s possible to find joy in most circumstances. That’s the distinction between joy and happiness. Happiness comes from the outside. It reflects something that happens to us—it’s circumstance-oriented. We’re always happy “about” something or someone. Joy comes from the inside. It is, indeed, down in our hearts. Which means, even when we are not particularly happy, we can still find joy.

Photo P. Raube (c) 2016, all rights reserved.

…In the year 587 BCE, the mighty Babylonian Empire had invaded Jerusalem, and now the holy city was gone. They had demolished the Temple, and now the dwelling place of God on earth was no more. God’s people were either killed or carried off to be strangers in a strange land. This passage contains God’s words, sent through Isaiah, to these people, who have lost everything.

Be comforted, O be comforted, my people…

“White Sheep on a Farm” Photo by kailash kumar from Pexels.

We begin with this aching, desperate plea to God:

“O that you would tear open the heavens and come down.”

What was it? What caused that cry to go up? What caused that prophet to give voice to a sense that nothing less would do—that the very presence of God on earth was required. NOW.

Photo: P. Raube, (c) 2014, all rights reserved.

Hungering for normalcy. On November 22, in the Year of Our Lord 2020, I would say we are all hungering for something that feels like normalcy.

In this year in which a pandemic has swept the world, and is not done with us yet… in this year in which we have seen perhaps the most contentious, conflict-ridden presidential election in most of our lifetimes… in this year in which I pray most of us will not gather for Thanksgiving with large groups, but will, instead, stay close to home in our safe and small pods of people … in this year in which, my heart breaks to say it, we will not, for the sake of one another’s lives, be gathering in our sanctuary to sing “O Come, All Ye Faithful”…

We are all hungering for something… anything… approaching normalcy…

Image: “Safety Net,” (c) Hannah Garrity and A Sanctified Art, used with permission.

I used to think that love was simple.
You would know when you know,
What was meant, would be.
But I fell in love
And it’s not that easy.
It’s compromise and identity,
Mountains and valleys,
Apologies and memories,
Imbalance, recentering.
It turns out, "
Love took reimagining.

This poem may be familiar to those of you who’ve had a chance to read, reflect, and do some of the work in the Study Journal for our stewardship season. We have been reflecting on our money stories. The Rev. Sarah Are begins the poem with words about love—falling in love, which can be so easy, and then, doing the work of love, which can be so hard. Compromise and identity; mountains and valleys, apologies and memories. Imbalance. Recentering. Reimagining.

In a way, scripture tells us a great and grand love story. God chooses to create for no discernible reason, but then seems to fall in love with the creatures wrought by the Divine Hand. And together they learn—it seems to me—compromise and identity. (I mean, God forgives, and forgives, and forgives.) Mountains on which the law is received and valleys that need to be raised so that God might come again in rescue. Apologies. Memories.

And through it all, God teaches God’s human creations how to imagine, and then reimagine what it is to be a people. A covenant people. A people of law, and a people of love…

Image: “Jubilee,” (c) Lauren Wright Pittman and A Sanctified Art, used with permission.