For a second after Aslan breathed upon him the stone lion looked just the same. Then a tiny streak of gold began to run along his white marble back — then it spread — then the colour seemed to lick all over him as the flame licked all over a bit of paper — then, while his hind-quarters were still obviously stone the lion shook his mane and all the heavy, stony folds rippled into living hair. (C.S. Lewis, The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe)
…Listening In…
He said, “Peace be with you.” After he said this, he showed them his hands and his side. When the disciples saw the Lord, they were filled with joy. (John 20:19-20; context)
…Filling Up…
…Day four with the Apostle Peter (click here for day one, two, three)
I leapt up and stared at the man in the center of the room. He was slowly spinning in a circle, studying each statue in turn. I looked where he was looking: at the hollow eyes, at the sunken cheeks, at the dried up streams of tears that had washed clean lines on dirty faces.
As far as I could tell, I was the only one who had noticed his presence. Since my rational mind was still turned off, I didn’t even wonder how someone else had entered the room while I was sitting against the locked door. I just stared at him, uncomprehending, but the sliver of hope that lay dormant in me since the tomb was beginning to glow. Then he said, “Peace be with you.”
They were the first words spoken since Philip’s one-word response to my question hours earlier. The words rang out, and the others began to stir. They raised their heads. Some stood up. The man walked over to me, gripped my arm in a firm grasp, and I noticed fresh wounds that cut through both of his wrists. He went around the room clasping the others’ shoulders and lifting their chins with his fingers. “He can’t be,” I said, as the war of guilt and pain and loss continued to rage within me, stronger now that the faint glow of hope was illuminating the battlefield.
The man heard me and turned to face my direction. “Peace be with you,” he said again. We were all standing now. The room, so empty a moment before, seemed full now, but not full enough for him. He gestured to me. I turned, unbolted the lock, and opened the door. Mary, still slumped against the other side, fell into the room. I helped her to her feet. “Is he?” I whispered to her. She looked from the man to me, and she beamed at me through brimming eyes.
…to be concluded tomorrow.
…Praying For…
Dear God, you are the life-breath of all things. Help me feel the peace you are speaking into my heart, so that I may show that peace forth to others. In Jesus Christ’s name I pray. Amen.
…Sending Out…
I leave this moment with you, God, feeling you breathe the peace that passes all understanding into my heart and soul.
For a second after Aslan breathed upon him the stone lion looked just the same. Then a tiny streak of gold began to run along his white marble back — then it spread — then the colour seemed to lick all over him as the flame licked all over a bit of paper — then, while his hind-quarters were still obviously stone the lion shook his mane and all the heavy, stony folds rippled into living hair. (C.S. Lewis, The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe)
…Listening In…
It was still the first day of the week. That evening, while the disciples were behind closed doors because they were afraid of the Jewish authorities, Jesus came and stood among them. (John 20:19; context)
…Filling Up…
…Day three with the Apostle Peter (click here for day one, two)
I shut the door with Mary on the other side. Sliding the bolt home, I slumped against the door and slid to the ground. Oblivious to Mary’s pounding on the door, I looked around the room. Judas was gone, of course, but everyone else was there, I was sure. We had escaped the mob and the authorities. Would they be content with the death of our leader or would they be coming after us, too? I counted the others. Nine, and I made ten. Someone else was missing. “Where’s Thomas,” I called out.
Philip looked up for a moment and managed a one-word response. “Gone,” he said, and he put his head back into his hands. I sat with my back to the locked door. Eventually Mary gave up her pounding. I could hear her sobbing, her breath coming in great heaves. She was, no doubt, sitting against the other side of the door. Three inches of wood separated us: three inches of wood and my disbelief and the war raging within me.
Inside the room, we might have been statues. I couldn’t even hear the others breathing. Hours passed and no one noticed. No one spoke. No one ate or drank. We were entombed in the locked house, alive but acting like dead men. And all the while the war raged on while numbness froze my body against the bolted door.
The ten of us were still frozen in place when evening fell. I had been staring at nothing in particular when I began unconsciously counting the others again. “Eight. Nine. Ten.” I counted aloud, and then I put my finger to my own chest. “Eleven.” I counted again. Eleven again. I leapt up and stared at the man in the center of the room.
…to be continued tomorrow.
…Praying For…
Dear God, you are the life-breath of all things. Help me to invite you into the locked rooms within myself, all the places I don’t want you to see, but where you are needed most. In Jesus Christ’s name I pray. Amen.
…Sending Out…
I leave this moment with you, God, feeling you breathe the peace that passes all understanding into my heart and soul.
For a second after Aslan breathed upon him the stone lion looked just the same. Then a tiny streak of gold began to run along his white marble back — then it spread — then the colour seemed to lick all over him as the flame licked all over a bit of paper — then, while his hind-quarters were still obviously stone the lion shook his mane and all the heavy, stony folds rippled into living hair. (C.S. Lewis, The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe)
…Listening In…
Mary Magdalene left and announced to the disciples, “I’ve seen the Lord.” Then she told them what he said to her. (John 20:18; context)
…Filling Up…
…Day two with the Apostle Peter (click here for day one)
I was at war within myself, and I could not access a single crumb of the peace that Jesus had always radiated.
I saw the empty tomb, but the conflict within kept me blind to what the emptiness might mean. The war inside of me – with fresh reinforcements of guilt – was still raging when I returned to the house we had used a few nights before, on the night when I didn’t want Jesus to wash my feet. Nine of the others were there; they had been locked in the room since the mob had formed three days before. As I was shutting the door, Mary Magdalene rushed up and squeezed her way into the room. “I have seen the Lord,” she shouted.
She was breathing hard. I had left her standing outside the tomb, so she must have raced all the way to the house to catch up with me. I looked at Mary: her face glistened with sweat, her eyes were bright. If the conflict within had not been blinding me, I might have identified the brightness in her eyes as “joy,” but how could there ever be joy again after what had happened? The other disciples barely looked up when she burst in shouting. She looked around the room, then back at me. “He has risen from the dead,” she said, defiantly.
I took a step toward her. “Just because the tomb was empty,” I began, but my voice trailed off. She backed away, and now her voice was very small, small and wounded. “But I did see him,” she said. And I shut the door with Mary on the other side.
…to be continued tomorrow.
…Praying For…
Dear God, you are the life-breath of all things. Help me not to shut out possibilities that seem impossible; grant me the imagination and the elbow grease needed to remove the “im” from the word impossible. In Jesus Christ’s name I pray. Amen.
…Sending Out…
I leave this moment with you, God, feeling you breathe the peace that passes all understanding into my heart and soul.
For a second after Aslan breathed upon him the stone lion looked just the same. Then a tiny streak of gold began to run along his white marble back — then it spread — then the colour seemed to lick all over him as the flame licked all over a bit of paper — then, while his hind-quarters were still obviously stone the lion shook his mane and all the heavy, stony folds rippled into living hair. (C.S. Lewis, The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe)
…Listening In…
Peter and the other disciple left to go to the tomb. They were running together, but the other disciple ran faster than Peter and was the first to arrive at the tomb. Bending down to take a look, he saw the linen cloths lying there, but he didn’t go in. (John 20:3-5; context)
…Filling Up…
We’re going to change it up a little bit on devotiONEighty this week with five days of narrative. Every once in a while at my church, I preach sermons as a character from the text of the Bible. Likewise, this week on devo180, imagine with me the Apostle Peter, who is in Rome near the end of his life, talking to a friend about the day when Jesus rose from the dead and appeared to the disciples in the locked house (John 20).
I wish I could tell you that seeing the empty tomb was enough. I went inside the tomb and saw the linen cloths lying there and the cloth that had covered Jesus’ face folded up in a corner. Thinking back now, surely grave robbers would not have folded his ceremonial burial garments while stealing his body! But in the semi-darkness of that early morning, I wasn’t thinking rationally. I wasn’t thinking at all. I was numb on the outside, immune to the sliver of hope that the empty tomb brought.
I was numb on the outside, but on the inside, I was at war. I always thought of myself as his most faithful disciple, but at the time of his greatest need, I abandoned him, I lied about knowing him to save my own skin. In the garden, I had been ready to fight to the death for Jesus. But the moment he took away my sword, I crumbled. I wasn’t strong enough to remain by his side without a weapon in my hand. I wasn’t strong enough to trust him, to trust that his plan included death without fighting. I was at war within myself, and I could not access a single crumb of the peace that Jesus had always radiated.
…to be continued tomorrow.
…Praying For…
Dear God, you are the life-breath of all things. Help me to believe even when I can’t see and help me to proclaim your love even when I am afraid. In Jesus Christ’s name I pray. Amen.
…Sending Out…
I leave this moment with you, God, feeling you breathe the peace that passes all understanding into my heart and soul.
NOTE: DevotiONEighty is off this week. It will return next Monday, April 8th.
(Sermon for Saturday, March 30, 2013 || The Easter Vigil || Year B || Luke 24:1-12)
I doubt they slept much the last two nights, the women who rose early on the first day of the week to minister to their dead Lord. Every time they shut their eyes, I’m sure they saw the silhouette of Jesus’ cross in the distance, his limp body all but unrecognizable because of his torturous hours hanging there. And because dead bodies never, ever look like the lives ones they were a moment before; especially Jesus’ body, he who was so full of abundant life that he was just giving of his abundance to anyone who asked. No, I doubt these women slept much, though if they did finally fall into fitful slumber, it was because they cried themselves to sleep. When all you have left is your tears, you’d want to hoard them; but that’s when they flow all the more freely.
“Women at the Tomb” (Jesus Mafa – click for more info)
I’m sure the tears began again when they awoke early on the first day of the week. New grief is like that. Each morning you wake and remember again that your loved one is gone, and again the pain stabs you anew, just as fresh as the first time. But even in the midst of their grief, these women took up their burdens of fragrant spices and trudged out into the darkness, so they could arrive at the tomb at first light.
But these brave women, who are ready to care for the body of their Lord, to do their duty out of love and compassion, are making the happiest mistake in the history of mistakes. They are prepared to wash and anoint a lifeless body, but what they find is no body at all. They find an empty tomb, save for a discarded burial shroud. Their grief threatens to overwhelm them because the duty they were planning to perform – the one they had been clinging to since his death – is gone now, too. They didn’t think they could be more desolate, but they were wrong. The empty tomb magnifies their desolation.
But into this scene of despair and grief comes the sudden presence of two gleaming messengers. They enlighten the woman as to their mistake: “Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here, but has arisen.” Then they remind the women what Jesus had said about himself while they were all still in Galilee.
The women remember Jesus’ words, and first one, then another, then another breaks out into a tentative smile. “Could it be true?” they ask each other.
“Yes, yes, yes it could.”
“Jesus never lied to us.”
“How could we forget his words?”
Then one repeats the messengers’ question: “Why are we looking for the living among the dead?”
This question echoes down through the centuries, and we find ourselves asking it when we read the beginning of the final chapter of Luke’s account of the Gospel. Why do you look for the living among the dead? How often in our day-to-day lives could we hear the gleaming messengers asking us this question? How often do we trudge down the well-worn path to life-defeating things hoping this time – maybe this time – something life-affirming will happen?
Perhaps you’ve had a string of boyfriends who were real losers. Your friends tell you so at every opportunity, but you’ve got a blind spot for bad boys. They treat you with no respect. From time to time they’ve even called you a name that I can’t say during this sermon. And yet you meet another one and all the signs are there, but you dive in headfirst anyway. To you the gleaming messengers say, “Why do you look for the living among the dead?”
Perhaps you’ve been sober for three months. Your sponsor hands you your chip and slaps you on the back. You’ve got a couple of other three-month chips in a drawer somewhere, but that’s not on your mind right now. On your way home from the meeting, you run into an old buddy from back in the day. The next morning, you stagger to the drawer and toss the newest chip in. Maybe you’ll get another one in a few months time. To you, the messengers say, “Why do you look for living among the dead?”
Perhaps you work through your family vacation because you’ve got too many projects on your plate. Or you spend every waking hour mindlessly surfing YouTube and Facebook. Or you derive your self-worth only by what others say of about you. To you – to all of us – the messengers say, “Why do you look for the living among the dead?”
The Resurrection of Jesus Christ spurred this question all those centuries ago. The women made the happy mistake of looking for a dead Christ, when the Risen One was alive again. They brought to the tomb their grief, their tears, and their emptiness. And they left them there because the power of the Risen Christ outshone any desolation left in them.
When we look for life-affirming answers in the midst of life-defeating things, we replicate the women’s happy mistake, but with none of their good intentions. When we look for the living among the dead, we are trudging the well-worn path to the newly hewn grave where a dead messiah awaits. That way is full of tears and lifelessness.
But the good news of the Resurrection is this: when we arrive at the tomb, at rock bottom, at the ends of our ropes, we will find the Living Christ shining radiantly in the midst of our dead messiahs. We will find his empty tomb, which is ready to receive all of our muck, all of our bad choices, all of our life-defeating tendencies. When we deposit all of our dead ends there, we can leave the tomb unencumbered, and chase off after the Risen Christ, fresh, free, and born anew.
We adore you, O Christ, and we bless you;
Because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world.
…Listening In…
Now there was a man named Joseph who was a member of the council. He was a good and righteous man. He hadn’t agreed with the plan and actions of the council. He was from the Jewish city of Arimathea and eagerly anticipated God’s kingdom. This man went to Pilate and asked for Jesus’ body. Taking it down, he wrapped it in a linen cloth and laid it in a tomb carved out of the rock, in which no one had ever been buried. It was the Preparation Day for the Sabbath, and the Sabbath was quickly approaching.The women who had come with Jesus from Galilee followed Joseph. They saw the tomb and how Jesus’ body was laid in it, then they went away and prepared fragrant spices and perfumed oils. (Luke 23:50-56; context)
…Filling Up…
This Holy Week we are be meditating on the fourteen “Stations of the Cross.” The Opening and Sending sections of this week’s Devos, as well as the italicized verses at the end of each station come from the Episcopal “Way of the Cross” service found in the Book of Occasional Services. (If you’d like to hear the complete work, check out the music page.)
Station 13: The body of Jesus is placed in the arms of his mother
Daughter of Jerusalem,
Cradle your Son.
“My heart is poured out in grief,
My eyes are spent, but my sorrow’s just begun.
My name shall be ‘Mara.’
Bitter I have become.
O Death, I feel your sting,
But is it true that the grave’s
Power will be undone?”
Her tears run down her cheek: And she has none to comfort her.
Station 14: Jesus is laid in the tomb
Grieving,
They pull the thorns from Jesus’ head;
Not quite believing
Their way, their truth, their live is dead.
The future looming:
A void where light is never shed.
Now they’re entombing
The bridegroom who will never wed.
You will not abandon me to the grave: Nor let your Holy One see corruption.
Closing Antiphon
…Praying For…
Dear God, your holy Son relinquished his life to destroy death, and he died so I might live. Help me to die to self each day and live for him he rose again on the third day. As I wait and watch by the tomb, grant me the grace to remember his presence in my life, in whose name I pray. Amen.
…Sending Out…
I leave this moment with you, God, glorying in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, in whom is our salvation, our life, and resurrection.
We adore you, O Christ, and we bless you;
Because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world.
…Listening In…
When Jesus saw his mother and the disciple whom he loved standing nearby, he said to his mother, “Woman, here is your son.” Then he said to the disciple, “Here is your mother.” And from that time on, this disciple took her into his home. After this, knowing that everything was already completed, in order to fulfill the scripture, Jesus said, “I am thirsty.” A jar full of sour wine was nearby, so the soldiers soaked a sponge in it, placed it on a hyssop branch, and held it up to his lips. When he had received the sour wine, Jesus said, “It is completed.” Bowing his head, he gave up his life. (John 19:26-30; context)
…Filling Up…
This Holy Week we are be meditating on the fourteen “Stations of the Cross.” The Opening and Sending sections of this week’s Devos, as well as the italicized verses at the end of each station come from the Episcopal “Way of the Cross” service found in the Book of Occasional Services. (If you’d like to hear the complete work before Friday, check out the music page.)
Station 11: Jesus is nailed to the Cross
They climb the Skull and fling him down
Like so much dross.
See him stretch his arms of love on the
Hard wood of the cross
That all might come within the reach of his embrace.
Hear the nail pierce his hand
Taste the heaving tang of fear
The unrelenting hammer strikes home.
They lift high the Son of Man
His broken glory now appears
As he draws all to himself.
They pierce my hands and my feet: They stare and gloat over me.
Station 12: Jesus dies on the Cross
With the Beloved his mother stands:
To each other his final breath ties.
Darkness eclipses the surrounding lands;
“It is finished. It is finished,” he cries.
“My spirit, O Father, I give to your hands,”
With choking gasps he sighs.
Then my Lord bows to the grave’s demands,
Breathes his last, and dies.
He breathes his last and dies
Christ for us became obedient unto death: Even death on the cross.
…Praying For…
Dear God, your holy Son stretched his arms out on the cross and drew the whole of Creation to himself. Help me to reach out my own arms in love to all I meet, especially to those in the most need. In Jesus Christ’s name I pray. Amen.
…Sending Out…
I leave this moment with you, God, glorying in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, in whom is our salvation, our life, and resurrection.
We adore you, O Christ, and we bless you;
Because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world.
…Listening In…
When they came to a place called Golgotha, which means Skull Place, they gave Jesus wine mixed with vinegar to drink. But after tasting it, he didn’t want to drink it. After they crucified him, they divided up his clothes among them by drawing lots. (Matthew 27:33-35; context)
…Filling Up…
This Holy Week we are be meditating on the fourteen “Stations of the Cross.” The Opening and Sending sections of this week’s Devos, as well as the italicized verses at the end of each station come from the Episcopal “Way of the Cross” service found in the Book of Occasional Services. (If you’d like to hear the complete work before Friday, check out the music page.)
Station 9: Jesus falls the third time
By the waters of Babylon,
I hung my harp from the wall.
Darkness my only companion,
For the third time I see my Lord fall.
This strange land will hear no song of Zion,
This strange land that sees him crawl.
Remember, O Lord, my affliction:
The wormwood and the gall
The wormwood and the gall
He was led like a lamb to the slaughter: And like a sheep that before its shearers is mute, so he opened not his mouth.
Station 10: Jesus is stripped of his garments
The stench of decay is all around
When the bloody procession slows.
At Golgotha the only sound
Is the cawing of a thousand greedy crows.
They stop and strip his clothes to the ground
And offer him wine he loathes.
The soldiers are slapping their wagers down:
They gamble for his clothes,
And they gamble for his clothes.
They gave me gall to eat; And when I was thirsty they gave me vinegar to drink.
…Praying For…
Dear God, your holy Son was stripped of his clothes and his humanity, and he was reduced to a discarded piece of flesh hung on the cross. Yet he did not lose his dignity, nor his power, nor his conviction. In my dark days, clothe me with Christ and help me cling to him, in whose name I pray. Amen.
…Sending Out…
I leave this moment with you, God, glorying in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, in whom is our salvation, our life, and resurrection.
We adore you, O Christ, and we bless you;
Because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world.
…Listening In…
A huge crowd of people followed Jesus, including women, who were mourning and wailing for him. Jesus turned to the women and said, “ Daughters of Jerusalem, don’t cry for me. Rather, cry for yourselves and your children. (Luke 23:27-28; context)
…Filling Up…
This Holy Week we are be meditating on the fourteen “Stations of the Cross.” The Opening and Sending sections of this week’s Devos, as well as the italicized verses at the end of each station come from the Episcopal “Way of the Cross” service found in the Book of Occasional Services. (If you’d like to hear the complete work before Friday, check out the music page.)
Station 7: Jesus falls a second time
Again my Lord falls to the ground,
Lays in the dust;
Underneath the cross’s beams he
Calls me to trust
That his words are true, despite his frailty.
Surely this humility
Is the true life-giving way
To serve as Jesus served.
He bears our iniquities
For we like sheep have gone astray
And have served only ourselves.
“But as for me, I am a worm and no man: Scorned by all and despised by the people.”
Station 8: Jesus meets the women of Jerusalem
“Daughters of Jerusalem,
Weep not for me;
But weep for yourselves
For your children, let your tears fall freely.”
How vast is your grace, Lord?
As vast as eternity?
Blessed are you who wipe
Away every tear from our eyes.
Joy shall our children see.
Those who sowed with tears: Will reap with songs of joy.
…Praying For…
Dear God, your holy Son took up the cross and in its weight bore the weight of the world. Help me to find the will to help bear the weight of some of this world’s suffering, for the sake of Jesus Christ, in whose name I pray. Amen.
…Sending Out…
I leave this moment with you, God, glorying in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, in whom is our salvation, our life, and resurrection.
We adore you, O Christ, and we bless you;
Because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world.
…Listening In…
They led him away to crucify him. As they were going out, they found Simon, a man from Cyrene. They forced him to carry his cross. (Matthew 26:31-32; context)
…Filling Up…
This Holy Week we are be meditating on the fourteen “Stations of the Cross.” The Opening and Sending sections of this week’s Devos, as well as the italicized verses at the end of each station come from the Episcopal “Way of the Cross” service found in the Book of Occasional Services. (If you’d like to hear the complete work before Friday, check out the music page.)
Station 5: The Cross is laid on Simon of Cyrene
A stranger comes from the country,
Simon by name;
As they lay the cross on him,
He sees a flame
In Jesus’ eye which seems to say:
“Take my yoke and learn from me,
Take your cross and follow me,
And I will be with you.
Search your heart and yearn for me
And no longer hollow be
For I have already filled you.
“Whoever does not bear his own cross and come after me: Cannot be my disciple.”
Station 6: A woman wipes the face of Jesus
A woman walks out from the crowd,
Damp cloth in hand;
As she wipes his sweaty brow,
She beholds a man
Acquainted with grief, a man of sorrows.
His appearance is so marred
But intact is his soul,
Which bears our total rejection.
For our transgressions is he scarred;
By his passion we are whole,
And with his stripes we are healed.
“Restore us, O Lord God of hosts: Show us the light of your countenance, and we shall be saved.”
…Praying For…
Dear God, your holy Son walked the way of the cross with the help of a stranger. Give me the courage to invite the other into my life for our mutual benefit and for your greater glory. In Jesus Christ’s name I pray. Amen.
…Sending Out…
I leave this moment with you, God, glorying in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, in whom is our salvation, our life, and resurrection.
…Opening To…
Where the Wind... 