Author: revdbeth

I am a retired Episcopal priest after serving over thirty years in Diocese of Texas and a Benedictine Oblate of Our Lady of Grace Monastery in Beech Grove, Indiana. I'm also an eighth generation Texan. My daughter, The Homesick Texan, has moved back home to Texas. My son and his wife live in Bend, Oregon, with my two grandsons who call me Grandma Texas.

Holy Thursday: Will we?

It’s Holy Thursday. 
The day about disciples simply hanging out, being together, and eating meals with one another.  As shown by Jesus in the last supper he prepares for those who follow him. 
The day about disciples learning to love. To serve. As shown by Jesus who kneels before those who follow him and washes their feet. 

The night that disciples are invited to wait and watch and pray with Jesus. As shown by those who said they followed Jesus who did not pray and watch with Jesus in the garden of Gethsamene. As those who said they followed Jesus did not do during his arrest and trial. 
Will we eat a meal with each other?
Especially at Maundy Thursday worship. 
Will we serve and love each other?
In all those unexpected times Jesus will offer us, especially today. 
Will we watch with each other?  Will we pray with each other? Will we wait with each other?
Especially during vigils through the night tonight and tomorrow as we observe Good Friday. 

Holy Tuesday: Falling the First Time

                          Station Three on the Via Delorosa, Jerusalem

Friday is my Sabbath, and on this past Friday in preparation for Holy Week, I looked forward to a day to cease to work. It was a gorgeous spring day, and I spent a lot of time outside. 


On one of my saunters across the patio, the toes of my shoes caught on a gap in the concrete, and I fell flat on my face. As I lay completely prone, I began to do an inventory of injuries. I laid there a little longer as I got over the shock of the fall.

It was quiet. The birds were singing. There was a soft breeze. I became aware that I was completely alone.  No one knew I was lying on the ground in my back yard.  Although hurting and jarred, I wasn’t anxious or afraid. 

As I finally creaked to my feet, a little bruised, my face bleeding, I was very thankful for no broken teeth or bones.

Thanking God for only minor hurts, one of our St. Mary’s Stations of the Cross came to mind:  

+ Jesus Falls the First Time +


This contemplation of a place along the way of Jesus’ walk to his crucifixion is not based on any Scripture, yet walking along uneven stone streets, carrying a heavy load, literally and metaphorically, it is highly likely that Jesus fell. 

On this Tuesday in Holy Week I ponder Jesus’ falling. 

What sounds did he hear?  
What hurts did he feel?  
Is this when the soldiers compelled Simon of Cyrene to help Jesus carry his cross? 

Jesus, the Son of God, fell.  Jesus, the Chosen One, fell.

What does it mean to love and follow and serve Jesus, who falls?





Holy Monday: Nine O’Clock in the Morning

It’s nine o’clock in the morning. On this Holy Momday, Minerva is praying Morning Prayer at St. Mary’s. 

I am at home in the Rectory sitting in my prayer chair. Sacred sage incense is burning. I am praying with Minerva and others at St. Mary’s who have stopped to pray. I can feel the prayers rising like the incense and surrounding me. 
It’s nine o’clock in the morning. The hour when Jesus is taken to be crucified. 
It’s nine o’clock in the morning. The hour when the Spirit swirls like fire and wind upon and within the disciples gathered in Jesusalem fifty two days after Jesus died.  Fifty days after Jesus’ resurrection. 
But today, it’s nine o’clock in the morning on a day we call Holy because we are simply being with Jesus. Praying. Listening. Worshipping. 
We’ll do it again at 6.30 tonight. Gil will lead us. Whether we are at St. Mary’s or in the chapels of our hearts, will you stop and join us?
There is nothing more important, more essential, more more holy than to pray. To listen. To worship. 

Sunday of the Passion

A parishioner wanted to talk about the disharmony she feels on Palm Sunday. This is a woman who finds the liturgy of Holy Week to have great meaning–the walking day by day through the Scriptures and prayers leading to Jesus’ passion. Why, she asks, read the Passion Gospel on Palm Sunday?   Why not sit with the events of the Gospel of the Palms alone on this day? Why hear the long Gospel, too, as if we’re assuming folks won’t be back at church again until the Sunday of the Resurrection?  Why do a week of Gospel reading in one day?


I’ll admit I’ve thought some of the same things. I want to walk each holy day with the integrity of that specific day. But this year, for whatever reason, I’m good with the circling back of the Holy Week stories–of previewing the whole week, then hunkering in for a day by day. 

True. I know there are a slew of folks who will come to church today (and I’m so thankful for each and everyone of them) who I won’t see at St. Mary’s again until Easter Sunday.   It may be good for them to hear the whole story today.  But that’s not the point.  

I think we all need to be reminded where Holy Week begins–with the crowds, like me, who want a Savior they’ve created to their own liking. We need to hear the juxtaposition of the popular Jesus with the mystery and the truth of the Savior we have who is vulnerable unto death. The one who is always obedient to God’s will.  


So today we have the palm cross. 

So today we also have the nail.

I will hold both in my hand, and this Holy Week I pray that Jesus will get me nearer the truth of who he truly is, and not the comfortable image I imagine him to be.   Comforting, yes.  But not necessarily comfortable.