UPPING THE ANTE

From the New York Times:

A senior Vatican priest speaking at a Good Friday service compared the uproar over sexual abuse scandals in the Catholic Church — which have included reports about Pope Benedict XVI’s oversight role in two cases — to the persecution of the Jews, sharply raising the volume in the Vatican’s counterattack.
....

Benedict sat looking downward when the Rev. Raniero Cantalamessa, who holds the office of preacher of the papal household, delivered his remarks in the traditional prayer service in St. Peter’s Basilica. Wearing the brown cassock of a Franciscan, Father Cantalamessa took note that Easter and Passover were falling during the same week this year, saying he was led to think of the Jews. “They know from experience what it means to be victims of collective violence and also because of this they are quick to recognize the recurring symptoms,” he said.
....

The Vatican spokesman, the Rev. Federico Lombardi stressed that Father Cantalamessa’s sermon represented his own private thoughts and was not “an official statement” from the Vatican.

Posted without commentary.

MY GOD, MY GOD, WHY HAVE YOU FORSAKEN ME?

 

Crucifixion (Corpus Hypercubus) 1954, by Salvador Dali

My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?
Why are you so far from helping me, from the words of my groaning?
O my God, I cry by day, but you do not answer;
and by night, but find no rest.
....

Yet it was you who took me from the womb;
you kept me safe on my mother’s breast.
On you I was cast from my birth,
and since my mother bore me you have been my God.
Do not be far from me,
for trouble is near
and there is no one to help.

(Psalm 22:1-2, 9-11)

In a wonderful essay at the Daily Episcopalian, Christopher Evans reminds us to connect the Incarnation (which is more than a pretty story!) to the Crucifixion. My heart leaped as I read, because I find that connection somewhat lacking in the present day liturgies. When Joseph and Mary took Jesus to the temple in Jerusalem for the purification ceremony, old Simeon had a word or two to say:

And the child’s father and mother were amazed at what was being said about him. Then Simeon blessed them and said to his mother Mary, ‘This child is destined for the falling and the rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be opposed so that the inner thoughts of many will be revealed—and a sword will pierce your own soul too.’

(Luke 2:33-35)

In his essay, Evans says:

In working to correct an imbalance, it seems that now we want little to do with a pained and suffering God; with a God who nurses, shits, and bleeds; with a God who identifies with flesh, blood, and bone definitively. The Nativity, the Incarnation, is reduced to sweet manger scenes and gifts of sweets. The cross is an after thought to the joys of Easter. We want nothing of the Creator who, in J.S. Bach’s words for St. John’s Passion, dies.

But without this bodiliness, this fleshliness, the Resurrection becomes a ghostly thing.

That God came down, that God took upon God's own self the human form to become one of us, to live as we live, to struggle as we struggle, to love and take joy in human companionship, and, finally, to suffer and die, and to be raised up, flesh and blood, is the miracle of Christmas, and the miracle of Easter, and the miracle of our salvation.

As Evans says:

It is this fleshly God, Jesus Christ, who goes all the way for us that captures my heart and imagination, that makes utterly awesome the Resurrection, the Ascension, the Communion of Saints, the Creation, the Holy Communion.

Amen!

"MY EPISCOPAL CHURCH"

Title and video "borrowed" from Ann at What the Tide Brings In.

THOUGHT FOR THE DAY - GOOD WILL

Good will that is purchased is worth nothing at all.

A REMINDER - JESUS IN LOVE BLOG SERIES

From the The Jesus in Love Blog:

A queer version of Christ’s Passion is running in daily installments this week from Palm Sunday through Easter. Each daily post features a queer Christian painting and an excerpt from the novel Jesus in Love: At the Cross by Kittredge Cherry.

The paintings of our friend Doug Blanchard, aka Counterlight, are featured in the series, along with other artists.

MARIE'S LETTER TO THE POPE

From Marie Fortune at the FaithTrust Institute:

In fairness to the Pope, there is probably nothing he could have said to the church in Ireland that would be sufficient to bring healing to the thousands of survivors of sexual abuse at the hands of pedophile priests. Too little, too late. I don’t think anyone ever imagined the numbers of victims, the numbers of abusive priests, and the material (not to mention the spiritual) cost facing the Roman Catholic Church. But as the crisis erupts again in Europe and the U.S. with serious questions being raised about the Pope himself, one has to wonder if the men in charge have learned anything in the past 20 years. It would appear not.

If the Vatican were to ask me for advice on how to handle this situation (which they will not), here are my ten steps to justice and healing....

Read Marie's advice to the pope. I can't think of one word that I'd want to add.

Thanks to Ann for the link.

MAUNDY THURSDAY

 

"Sacrament of the Last Supper" - Salvador Dali

While they were eating, he took a loaf of bread, and after blessing it he broke it, gave it to them, and said, ‘Take; this is my body.’ Then he took a cup, and after giving thanks he gave it to them, and all of them drank from it. He said to them, ‘This is my blood of the* covenant, which is poured out for many. Truly I tell you, I will never again drink of the fruit of the vine until that day when I drink it new in the kingdom of God.’

(Mark 14:22-25)

HOLY THURSDAY

Is this a holy thing to see
In a rich and fruitful land,
Babes reduced to misery,
Fed with cold and usurous hand?

Is that trembling cry a song?
Can it be a song of joy?
And so many children poor?
It is a land of poverty!

And their sun does never shine,
And their fields are bleak and bare,
And their ways are filled with thorns:
It is eternal winter there.

For where'er the sun does shine,
And where'er the rain does fall,
Babes should never hunger there,
Nor poverty the mind appall.

William Blake - Songs of Experience

But he [Jesus] answered them, ‘You give them something to eat.’

(Mark 6:37)

WENCHOSTER CALENDAR - APRIL

 

 

In her regular feature in the Pharisaios Journal, "The Word From Wormingdale", Canon Daphne Pullover reflects on the season:

Easters that fall after the start of British Summer Time give us lighter mornings in which to contemplate the encounter in the garden between a weeping woman and a stranger. It always reminds me of a walk I took one early morning across the meadows at the back of the village and adjacent to the river. The mist was rising and the usual path looked unfamiliar. As I came down to the old footbridge I sensed rather than saw a figure standing on it, but I still jumped with fright when it turned round and lifted its arms above its head. “Jesus Christ!” I exclaimed as I fell backwards on to the grass. The figure advanced towards me as I lay spread-eagled on the damp sod. I felt a warm flush as it reached out a gnarled hand towards me to help me up. “Morin’ Reverend,” said a familiar voice. “Did oi startle ‘ee?” Recognition was instant, and I gently cuffed Sam Pharlap round the ear. “What are you doing down here you old beggar?” I said. “You frightened me half out of my wits.” It turned out that Sam was engaged in his usual pursuit of pheasant boggling, an old Wenchostershire tradition dating back to the 16th century.

Down in the church the aisles are heavy with scent from the arum lilies, and the tower damp with the perspiration of the ringers. Warm spring breezes blow across the churchyard, stirring the small posies of flowers that people have laid on the graves of their loved ones. Homely Easter traditions – flowers and bells and remembrance and feasting. The Gospels speak of the same things – the women bringing scented spices and oils to the tomb, the feast of fish and honeycomb in the Upper Room, bread and wine at Emmaus, no doubt with flowers placed on the table by the innkeeper’s wife. In the vestry the choir practice their celebratory anthem, and I hear the steady clicking of the organist’s metronome atop the piano.

William Wordsworth’s wild daffodils spread themselves in the new churchyard grass and on the Village Green. Seagulls winging inland from the coast swoop and wheel low above the greening crops, ever looking for their Easter feast. I can see them still from my bedroom window. Such energy – the flying of miles for a small snack, so unlike human energy, exhausted after a day’s hike from Jerusalem to Emmaus – just one thing on their mind – refreshment, and then maybe more conversation with their odd companion. Then after the disappearance such renewed vigour in their hurrying back to the city. The Easter tales are all go, scurrying hither and thither, such tales to tell.

Low Sunday is always an anti-climax, but this year I shall be busy for there is to be a family reunion in Wenchoster. Second cousins I have not seen for decades will meet me in the Thorpe Hotel for lunch. Aunt Phoebe is coming all the way from Nantucket to be with us, and Aunt Geraldine is flying in from new Zealand. We will be a merry gathering, and as it is to take place in a respectable County hotel, we will, of course, be wearing hats.

Aunt Phoebe, my mother’s youngest sister, always reminds me of Aunt Ada Doom in Cold Comfort Farm, who took to her bed after seeing something nasty in the woodshed. Phoebe took to her bed for a year following the break-up of her marriage to Grigori Stanislaus. She had been warned about his predilection for vodka, but when she came home one evening to find him in bed with a goat it was all too much for her. Even now she cannot abide vodka. To my mother she was always the proverbial black sheep of the family. The following day I shall take them on a tour of the sights of Wenchostershire. We shall wander through the Gussetts and explore Balldrop Down.

I am always exhausted after the liturgical round of Holy Week and Easter, and I look forward to a few days off afterwards. There will be time to attend to the garden, recovering after the harsh winter. Kevin will turn up with his implements and together we will turn over the beds.

MAUNDY THURSDAY

 

 

In the merry month of May, I shall be visiting the Diocese of Wenchoster. Bishop Roderick Codpiecium invited me to be his guest, and I simply could not refuse his gracious invitation.

"HE DESCENDED INTO HELL"

In the Church Times, Giles Fraser, Canon at St. Paul's in London, writes wonderfully on Jesus' descent into hell.

THE Bishop of the Convocation of American Churches in Europe, the Rt Revd Pierre Whalon, has just returned from a visit to Haiti. He preached at St Paul’s the other day, and came to lunch with us afterwards, where he told a story about how bad things are in Port-au-Prince.

He spoke of coming across an open pit of bodies that people were also using as a rubbish tip for house hold refuse. All he wanted to do was climb down into the pit and clear out the rubbish. That is to be my abiding prayer thought for this year’s Holy Week.

Christ jumps into the pit of death to claim even the grave for his victory. With this last act, the victory over death, Christ is the Lord of all. There are no corners of human experience that cannot be redeemed by his love.

Although the words, "He descended into hell," are present in The Apostles' Creed, today we tend to slide over the words without giving them due attention. Read Giles' entire post, and you might change your mind.

PERFUME AND BETRAYAL

Doorman-Priest posted a fine reflection for Holy Week based on Chapter 14:1-11 in Mark's Gospel. Especially, take note of DP's words on the implications of the story of the unnamed woman who anointed Jesus with costly perfume.

Some of the wisest words ever spoken to me were the advice from a friend to read the Bible as though all of the stories and teachings apply to YOU. And, to me, that includes the Judas story, which DP speaks of in his post.