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.








A blessing for the final days of Lent


I met with my spiritual director yesterday. Of course we talked about how Lent was going. I’ve said before that being raised in the Baptist tradition, tithing my money to God comes easy, but Lenten disciplines, a later in life practice, is always a challenge. 
I’ve learned by years of starts and stops, of twists and circle backs, that my day by day through Lent is best defined as a rhythm. What surprises will God have in store that will take me to new places of mystery?
So on this day of Sabbath, as I prepare myself to walk beside Jesus leading our dear parish through Holy Week, I ponder the rhythm God has given me. 
To light incense and pray. 
To read poetry. 
To dance healing prayers for a friend with cancer. 
To remember to rest. 
To write notes of love. 
To be thankful for all of my stuff as I give away those things which no longer give joy. 
To pray with an icon. 
To travel on rabbit trails while reading Scripture. 
In the Rule of St. Benedict, we remember that everyday we begin again, and so I offer a blessing for all who walk these final days of Lent, written by a woman whose writings have been a path for me these Lenten days:

May every road
you travel
draw you deeper
into the heart
of God
May each moment
of the path
open you to
eternity
May God be
your guard
and your guide
in the way
that you 
And may time
turn well for you
and spiral you
always home.

Written by Jan Richardson ((c) janrichardson.com)