It wasn't easy, walking this way this morning as the story got ugly while the sun streamed through the stained glass windows and the promise of a day of warmth and beauty lay before us.
And, with dread, we knew where the path led. The cross. Jesus begged the Father for another way. I found myself pleading as well as the pastor spoke of the torment Jesus endured.
So what do you do with a story of 24 hours, a day in the life, when it ends this way?
We stay with the story. We stay in the moment with the cross. "Oh, the wondrous cross," we sang out with torn hearts.
Pastor Bill noted that so many times we want to skip over this "way of suffering" and get to the victory of Easter. But the power of the cross is what brings us to that victory. So, he closed our worship with an encouragement to spend time gazing on the cross this week, letting it speak to us, and then engaging in spiritual conversations with each other about what we are hearing. I immediately knew what cross I would gaze upon, a cross brought to me by my precious friend, Ruth, from her trip to Croatia. A perfect choice for me because Jesus is on this cross. Perhaps I can stay in the story at least until next Sunday.
Dear Donna and friends,
ReplyDeleteDown in the back of my yard there is some kind of thorn bush, with thorns about an inch long. I usually forget that it's there until I ride up against it on the lawnmower, then I become painfully aware of it!
I remembered it the other day, then took some pruning shears down to it and snipped off a half-dozen small, pliable twigs. I wove those twigs (carefully) into a crown of thorns for the cross at church, poking my fingers a few times as I did.
Since then, my mind and heart have been on the hymn, "Were you there when they crucified my Lord?" except that, by virtue of being stuck by these thorns, I hear it as "Were you there when I crucified my Lord?"
As I gaze upon the cross this Lent, and maybe even congratulate myself for not holding one of the nails to His wrist or ankle, I'm struck instead by the hurt my sins have caused Him with every little thorny twig I've added to His crown.
In spite of that, Jesus, you still love me! That love is what causes me to tremble with awe and wonder as we approach Holy Week.
Weaving a crown of thorns to place on your cross at church is a meaningful experiential. It speaks in many different ways.
ReplyDeleteHow is your approach to Holy Week speaking to you? I invite the rest of you to share.
donna
Good afternoon,
ReplyDeleteI agree that we often rush to Easter at the expense of skipping the cross. It’s hard to stay present with my sin because it forces me to consider how my sin has brought brokenness and pain to myself and others. I would rather rush to the cross and let it all disappear so I don’t have to think about my actions.
As I have been moving through the Easter season this year and focusing on my sin and the cross, the word “confession” has come to mind. If I understand correctly, confession means to agree with. So when I confess something to God, I am agreeing with him. In this case I am confessing that what he said about disobedience was right and that I have chosen disobedience, at times, over him and his ways.
I think what makes all this so difficult is the potential to go to a place of shame. I don’t think that’s his desire, but there is a tendency for me to go there. Like Adam and Eve hiding in the garden. The good news of the incarnation (and the Easter story), though, is that Jesus comes to meet us in it, so that we can consider our disobedience and then give it to him and allow him to change us by his presence in us.
Enjoy your trees today!
Jeff