Image credit: farconville / 123RF Stock Photo
Sunday, March 31, 2013
Saturday, March 30, 2013
WIlderness Yearning: Holy Saturday
O tarry and await the Lord’s pleasure;
be strong, and he shall comfort your heart;
wait patiently for the Lord. Psalm 27:18
be strong, and he shall comfort your heart;
wait patiently for the Lord. Psalm 27:18
Spent.
Friday, March 29, 2013
Wilderness Yearning: Good Friday
In his hands are the caverns of the earth
and the heights of the hills are his also. Psalm 95:4
I crave the silence this morning. If I could, I would step out of my house and walk into the desert. Walk until I have left all behind. Walk until I am enveloped in complete solitude. Walk until I am so weary I have no choice but to let go of all the anger and fear and doubt and shame that shadow my days.
I want to enter the raging storm, the whirlwind, the turmoil. I yearn to submit to the fiercely blown sand of the desert that obscures the sun and rips flesh to shreds. To follow the vortex to the depths of human anguish. And there to meet my savior. To discover and hold fast to the truth that nowhere is beyond God. And then to ask for the wild sands to cleanse me.
copyright © Anne E. Kitch 2013
and the heights of the hills are his also. Psalm 95:4
I crave the silence this morning. If I could, I would step out of my house and walk into the desert. Walk until I have left all behind. Walk until I am enveloped in complete solitude. Walk until I am so weary I have no choice but to let go of all the anger and fear and doubt and shame that shadow my days.
I want to enter the raging storm, the whirlwind, the turmoil. I yearn to submit to the fiercely blown sand of the desert that obscures the sun and rips flesh to shreds. To follow the vortex to the depths of human anguish. And there to meet my savior. To discover and hold fast to the truth that nowhere is beyond God. And then to ask for the wild sands to cleanse me.
copyright © Anne E. Kitch 2013
Thursday, March 28, 2013
Recieve and Hand On
A Sermon Preached at Diocesan House, Bethlehem PA
Maundy Thursday
1 Corinthians 11:23-26
Psalm 116: 1, 10-17
John 13:1-17, 31b-35
At the very juncture where Jesus turns to face into the storm to come—knowing full well what awaits him—he pauses to have supper with his friends. His thirty-some years of life, and three years of public ministry, are about to culminate in three catastrophic and literally earth-shattering days.
Everything has led to this moment.
In John’s gospel, Jesus is fully aware of what is about to come: the betrayal and suffering, and also the glory. Knowing that God has given all things into his hands, knowing that he has come from God, and will be going to God, chooses humility. At this moment of knowledge and power, when all things are in his hands, he takes those hands and serves.
Jesus kneels down, and in the hands in which he holds the whole world, he gently cups feet of his friends, washing , drying, loving.
In a time such as this, at a moment like this, Jesus simply serves.
Peter has difficulty receiving this gift. He retreats from the moment of intimacy, connection, and service, first by withdrawing, “no, no I won’t let you,” then by asking for something other than what Jesus is offering, “not just my feet, but all of me.” But Jesus is firm. He is offering one gift at this moment: the gift of simple, loving service.
How difficult it can be for us to receive.
How difficult it can be for us to receive compliments, acts of kindness, a gift of service. Like Peter, we defend ourselves. From compassion, sympathy, gentleness, benevolence, thoughtfulness, and even humility.
Service to others, even service as simple as an act of kindness, is at the center of the passion story. It is Jesus’ last lesson for his friends before he dies. This teaching is so important, he even makes a commandment about it. A new commandment, mandatum novem: love one another, as I have loved you.
The symbol of this love is not a miracle, or a dramatic act, or a display of power. It is the simple act of washing someone’s feet.
Service to others marks us as Christians. In fact, the third of The Five Marks of Mission adopted by the Episcopal Church is “to respond to human need by loving service.” And to respond to others, to give to others, we must first be open to receive. We cannot give what we do not hold.
A few moments from now we will open our hands to receive the sacrament. We do this because it was handed down to us. From Jesus to his followers, from St. Paul to new believers, from one generation to another, across time and tradition.
How will we pass it on?
The psalmist asks, “How shall I repay the Lord, for all the good things he has done for me?” (Psalm 116:10) Our answer might be, by spending our lives in discovering how we are loved. By opening our hands to receive the good God gives us. By using our hands to reach out to others in loving service.
Receive and hand on. Just as we do around the altar. Receive and hand on. Just as we do with the important things we learn. Receive and hand on. Just…receive and hand on.
1 Corinthians 11:23-26
Psalm 116: 1, 10-17
John 13:1-17, 31b-35
At the very juncture where Jesus turns to face into the storm to come—knowing full well what awaits him—he pauses to have supper with his friends. His thirty-some years of life, and three years of public ministry, are about to culminate in three catastrophic and literally earth-shattering days.
Everything has led to this moment.
In John’s gospel, Jesus is fully aware of what is about to come: the betrayal and suffering, and also the glory. Knowing that God has given all things into his hands, knowing that he has come from God, and will be going to God, chooses humility. At this moment of knowledge and power, when all things are in his hands, he takes those hands and serves.
Jesus kneels down, and in the hands in which he holds the whole world, he gently cups feet of his friends, washing , drying, loving.
In a time such as this, at a moment like this, Jesus simply serves.
Peter has difficulty receiving this gift. He retreats from the moment of intimacy, connection, and service, first by withdrawing, “no, no I won’t let you,” then by asking for something other than what Jesus is offering, “not just my feet, but all of me.” But Jesus is firm. He is offering one gift at this moment: the gift of simple, loving service.
How difficult it can be for us to receive.
How difficult it can be for us to receive compliments, acts of kindness, a gift of service. Like Peter, we defend ourselves. From compassion, sympathy, gentleness, benevolence, thoughtfulness, and even humility.
Service to others, even service as simple as an act of kindness, is at the center of the passion story. It is Jesus’ last lesson for his friends before he dies. This teaching is so important, he even makes a commandment about it. A new commandment, mandatum novem: love one another, as I have loved you.
The symbol of this love is not a miracle, or a dramatic act, or a display of power. It is the simple act of washing someone’s feet.
Service to others marks us as Christians. In fact, the third of The Five Marks of Mission adopted by the Episcopal Church is “to respond to human need by loving service.” And to respond to others, to give to others, we must first be open to receive. We cannot give what we do not hold.
A few moments from now we will open our hands to receive the sacrament. We do this because it was handed down to us. From Jesus to his followers, from St. Paul to new believers, from one generation to another, across time and tradition.
How will we pass it on?
The psalmist asks, “How shall I repay the Lord, for all the good things he has done for me?” (Psalm 116:10) Our answer might be, by spending our lives in discovering how we are loved. By opening our hands to receive the good God gives us. By using our hands to reach out to others in loving service.
Receive and hand on. Just as we do around the altar. Receive and hand on. Just as we do with the important things we learn. Receive and hand on. Just…receive and hand on.
Wilderness Yearning: Maundy Thursday
Lord, hear my prayer, and let my cry come before you;
hide not your face from me in the day of my trouble. Psalm 102:1
The sky brightens, the morning birdsong gives way to the regular thrum of traffic, signaling the beginning of another day, a typical day. The world around me is moving on, but I hesitate.
Am I ready to enter the present moment? Am I prepared to step into the otherness of the three days ahead? Do I have the courage?
Despite the normalcy around me, I know this time as something apart, and I am unsure of my next step. The way of the wilderness, the way of the cross, the way of life, is not straight. Rather, it curves and twists and obscures the landscape ahead.
Nevertheless, I set me feet upon the path. I choose this way. Because I have been walking it a long time, because I have been this way before even as nothing looks familiar, because when I give myself to the tumult I know that I am not alone.
copyright © Anne E. Kitch 2013
hide not your face from me in the day of my trouble. Psalm 102:1
The sky brightens, the morning birdsong gives way to the regular thrum of traffic, signaling the beginning of another day, a typical day. The world around me is moving on, but I hesitate.
Am I ready to enter the present moment? Am I prepared to step into the otherness of the three days ahead? Do I have the courage?
Despite the normalcy around me, I know this time as something apart, and I am unsure of my next step. The way of the wilderness, the way of the cross, the way of life, is not straight. Rather, it curves and twists and obscures the landscape ahead.
Nevertheless, I set me feet upon the path. I choose this way. Because I have been walking it a long time, because I have been this way before even as nothing looks familiar, because when I give myself to the tumult I know that I am not alone.
copyright © Anne E. Kitch 2013
Wednesday, March 27, 2013
Wilderness Yearning: Wednesday in Holy Week
Yours is the day, yours also the night;
you established the moon and the sun.
You fixed all the boundaries of the earth;
you made both summer and winter. Psalm 74:15-16
“Maybe we’ll see some blue sky today,” the man says as I nod to him in the parking lot.
“I wish spring would finally come,” my friend comments as I enter the office.
We are all yearning for it—blue skies, warm breezy days, early flowers in bloom, gentle nights. Like many I am weary of snow showers and grey days and biting wind. This morning there was frost on the car windows.
But then, this is spring, I acknowledge to myself. This is always the way of spring. The stormy weather. The promise rather than the reality of warmth. The sparse color. A season of not quite. Not quite warm enough for the spring dresses on display, not quite dry enough for softball practice, not quite beyond winter’s imperative to hunker down and huddle up.
We stand in a not quite time as well, preparing for celebration even as we face into the passion, desolation, and emptiness of the next three days.
We do walk this road alone. Like all that has come before, and all that is about to come, the not quite place belongs to God. There is no landscape that God does not inhabit.
copyright © Anne E. Kitch 2013
you established the moon and the sun.
You fixed all the boundaries of the earth;
you made both summer and winter. Psalm 74:15-16
“Maybe we’ll see some blue sky today,” the man says as I nod to him in the parking lot.
“I wish spring would finally come,” my friend comments as I enter the office.
We are all yearning for it—blue skies, warm breezy days, early flowers in bloom, gentle nights. Like many I am weary of snow showers and grey days and biting wind. This morning there was frost on the car windows.
But then, this is spring, I acknowledge to myself. This is always the way of spring. The stormy weather. The promise rather than the reality of warmth. The sparse color. A season of not quite. Not quite warm enough for the spring dresses on display, not quite dry enough for softball practice, not quite beyond winter’s imperative to hunker down and huddle up.
We stand in a not quite time as well, preparing for celebration even as we face into the passion, desolation, and emptiness of the next three days.
We do walk this road alone. Like all that has come before, and all that is about to come, the not quite place belongs to God. There is no landscape that God does not inhabit.
copyright © Anne E. Kitch 2013
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
Wilderness Yearning: Tuesday in Holy Week
As often as I have said, “My foot has slipped,”
your love, O
Lord, upheld me.
When many cares fill my mind,
your consolations
cheer my soul. Psalm 94:18-19
I look at my “To Do” list, then wish I hadn’t. Daunting.
Complicated. Maybe even treacherous.
Of course, I remind myself, it is just a piece of paper. I
have yet to be undone by a catalog. And I know something more. Beneath every
unraveled moment, I have discovered God’s love. Even when I could not see it at
the time.
I pick up my list and add to the top: breathe, pray, listen
to music, drink plenty of water, trust. I begin with item number one. Then,
almost as an afterthought, I add: find my sense of humor. I am fortified for
the day ahead.
copyright © Anne E. Kitch 2013
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