Shining Spirit

Lesson number 83. The same lesson every year. Identical! He Lives! No tomb of fear or pain or disappointment or grief or disaster or loss or doubt or anything else you can think of; nothing can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus; our risen Lord! Not now, not forever.

HE LIVES!

Go! Tell it on the mountain. Then come down to the reality of suffering and pain. Tell it there, too.
Tell it with your word and your work. Let’s let our hands speak. Let’s offer the bread of life to the spiritually and physically starving. Let’s live so that people will know: He is not dead. He is risen. Let’s agree on one fundamental truth that can and will unite us: We serve a risen savior; he’s in the world today. Up from the grave he arose! He walks with me; he talks with me. O Lord, my God, how great thou art! This is my story; this is my song. Because he lives, I can face tomorrow. It is well with my soul. O yes, it is well with my soul.

May all be well with your soul, too, on this day of wonder.

“I don’t know what it is. It doesn’t make sense. It’s confusing. Give me clarity. Ambiguity is alarming. I’m afraid.” This is the way life looked for The Saturday People who felt helpless and hopeless as the tomb was sealed and their hopes buried with their friend and teacher. And their confusion was contagious as the news spread: Jesus is dead. The adventure is over. Now what?

Feelings of confusion and despair felt by those people long ago are of historical interest to those who have never had a stone roll over them as it sealed the tomb of their dreams. But it’s likely that you have had the experience, that you know what it feels like to grieve love’s death, to cry over a relationship ended, to feel the earth shake when certainty turns to doubt. Just as the image above offers no assurance or direction or meaning, so it was with The Saturday People. The joy of yesterday turned into the brutal reality of today.

But what they forgot about was the promise of tomorrow. A very wise person once said that sometimes the only way out of a bad situation is through it. Sometimes we just have to wait in the darkness before light comes. Out of the grief of loss, the despair of disappointment we become The Sunday People, not of our own doing, but because Light flooded the world when the stone rolled away. So, have courage in the waiting, hope in uncertainty, faith in moments of fear, for those inevitable times of deep disappointment are transforming us into Sunday People. There can be no resurrection unless there is crucifixion, no transformation unless we walk through the darkness into the light. Wait in faith and hope. Tomorrow comes and The Sunday People will sing — because he lives, I can face tomorrow.

Wait. Don’t be afraid. The Light will come.

Today and tonight, millions of Christian people around the world will participate in a sacred moment commemorating the last supper shared by Jesus and his followers. The scene is dark. The cross is not far away. The inevitable is about to become the reality. And in the course of the shared meal, Jesus gives new meaning to bread and wine as sacramental symbols of his life. He concludes his final comments to his friends with the words: Do this in remembrance of me. Eat and drink to remember.

I wonder if his followers remembered a conversation not long before this Last Supper moment? To his energetic, perhaps naive, disciples, Jesus asked the question: Are you able to drink the cup that I drink? That is, are you able to bear the suffering, the pain, the death that will signal freedom to the world? Sobering question. The cup from which people will drink today is both remembrance and risk. You can’t have one or the other; you have to taste both.

So, I am waiting in line to receive my Maundy Thursday meal of bread and wine and as I draw closer and closer to the sacred food, I hear a voice: Can you drink the cup that I drink? In order for the sweetness of remembrance to come through, you have to taste the bitterness of risk and sacrifice. Still want the cup? Bottoms up!

When Judas walked through the door with his hand out, the chief priests and the legal experts knew it was just a matter of time. Afraid to make their move to arrest Jesus because of his popularity and large following, they shook hands with evil and waited for the right moment.

In a recent discussion group, the question came up: could Jesus have walked away into the darkness? Hidden from his persecutors? Escaped he cross? I think the answer is yes; he could have escaped the suffering and death that clearly awaited him, but he knew that there is no resurrection without crucifixion. Let me say it another way: transformation can’t happen without change. When we pray for personal transformation…to be stronger in faith, able to care for the poor, more compassionate toward the outcast and the alien…something has to change in order for the prayer to become practical reality. Personal schedules, depth of knowledge, attitude…transformation won’t happen unless I am willing to welcome the necessary change(s) that will open the door to my new self.

Jesus knew what was coming. He could have disappeared into the night. On this Wednesday of Holy Week, sit in meditation with this question: Why? When he had the chance to live, why did he choose to die? Wouldn’t it be amazing to trust God so much that you would be willing to make the Jesus Choice? To let the world see that, from the smallest personal change to the most profound change that might affect an entire culture, something dies so that something new can emerge. We call it Easter. Jesus called it absolute trust and selfless courage. The person you want to be is on the other side of that cross. It’s your choice.

Obstacle or opportunity
Promise or peril
Everything speaks of God
Everything

Two parades are coming to town today. Over on the far side of town, people are gathering to watch the grand arrival of the Roman Legion. Soldiers will march through the city gate with helmets gleaming in the sun; drums will beat out the rhythm of the soldiers’ steps; spears will be polished and carried at the ready; chariots will carry dignitaries. It will be a grand show.

Across town, through a lesser gate, a second procession will enter the city at approximately the same time. This one is made up of common, ordinary people walking with, surrounding, a man riding a donkey. He’s not dressed in formal attire and the animal he rides is very different from the ones the Romans use. The man’s name is Jesus, the young teacher who draws crowds everywhere he goes. Today it is predicted that the vast majority of city people will push and shove to see Jesus, rather than the Roman officials, and that they will line the roadway with palm branches. It is very likely that the Romans will know of this lesser parade and will take it as a direct confrontation to their power. It is inevitable. They won’t like it and they will probably make their displeasure known.

And they did.

That God’s good earth is given into our care, not for our careless consumption.
That love always wins, but often through sacrifice and sometimes pain.
That not only am I my brother’s keeper, but also advocate, protector and companion.
That hope does not require answers, only courage.
That there is no “use by…” date on human kindness.
That doing and being can be two different things.
That you have an opportunity today to do good or evil. What is the criterion for your choice?
That God likes to wear disguises.
That no matter what you think, or anybody else, you’re OK.
That yesterday was, tomorrow will be, and today is.

It is yours, but you don’t own it
It is unique, never one like it before
It is priceless; no assignable value
It is unpredictable, take what you get
It is painful; it is pleasant
It is anticipated, it is dreaded
It has a beginning and an end
It exists whether you do or not
It was meant to be fundamentally good
We have a knack for lousing it up
He has the grace and power to clean it up
We do. He has.
Thank God.

This is the day the Lord has made.
Don’t mess it up.
This is the day the Lord has made.
It belongs to you.

The other day I stood on the bank of the Santa Cruz River and imagined following that light path into the distance. The Santa Cruz has several claims to fame: it runs south to north, disappears completely for long stretches of distance as it runs quietly underground, and then reemerges to bubble along the surface until it dives down again. And, some of the bank area, like the one in the photo, is not easy to get to. I had to climb down an embankment, walk through a large, concrete water drainage system and then push my way through thick brush to find this little oasis. But it was worth the effort.

Birds sang from the tree limbs above me and the river sang as water struggled over fallen limbs and I sang: “when I in awesome wonder”. The impact of the experience was worth the inconvenience of getting there. I think I’ll save the moment in my “life metaphor” folder. Obstacles and discouragements and wrong turns and dead-end streets and dark times characterize life for many people, but I could hear the song of the river in the distance. The mystery and the melody kept me going. And look what I found!

I don’t mean to suggest that life is all about darkness or danger. It’s not. Sometimes it might feel like that, but it’s not. And that’s because light leads to Light. I know some of you reading these words are feeling your way along the dark tunnel or searching for the path through overwhelming obstacles. Don’t give up. Listen for the song of the river. It leads to Light. You may think the river has dried up or disappeared, but it’s there. Deep. And just beyond the next challenge of thick brush, it surfaces. And when it does, it sings. Follow the song to find the Light.

It’s 3:39 a.m. The room is dark except for a soft glow from the computer screen. On that screen is a blank form waiting for words. There’s really nothing very interesting about a blank computer screen. It has no breath or beauty. It is inanimate, lifeless. And it will remain this way until some letters from the alphabet link up to make a word. One word could do it. It doesn’t have to be a big word, or a fancy word, multi-syllabic, common or unique. Just about any word will do. Spacecraft. Tomato. Politics. See, I told you. Drop a word on a page, right in the middle or over in the corner, and the imagination stirs. Creativity kicks back the covers and whispers: “What if you tried this…”

I know this to be true because I’m sitting here looking at a boring, blank page that is mocking my lack of imagination. It’s 3:59; that’s 20 minutes of watching nothing happen. Maybe no word will come. Maybe at 11 a.m. I’ll still be sitting here, fingers poised over the keyboard, my head cocked a little to the left so I can hear the word arriving. For sure, I don’t hear anything now. Perhaps if I made a cup of coffee; maybe the aroma would activate all those little sleeping cells. Tell you what: while I’m brewing the coffee you pick one of these letter-combinations. It’s 4:08 now; here I go. Does any one of these do anything for you: elephant, starlight, pencil, mud, hiccups, poppyseed? I’ll be back in a minute. I’m back; coffee smells good, doesn’t it. Did I tell you that in writing ShiningSpirit for 13 years, this has happened before? Lots of times. Sometimes it’s the third cup of coffee that does the trick. Waiting is hard, isn’t? Waiting is hard, isn’t it? Waiting is… Maybe your waiting isn’t about putting words on a computer page, but you’ve waited, haven’t you? Prayed for, hoped for, longed for and waited. One of the hardest things to do in this is life is to wait. You know that.

Down in the left corner of my computer screen I see that I have written 365 words. Just words. I want to send you something that will be helpful or hopeful, not just a bunch of letters side by side. But that’s the way it seems to be this early morning: 4:29 now. Where is the word? Where is The Word. I don’t see it or hear it. Do you?

I’ll wait.