Prayer connected to Amos 9

The following prayer for a service on Amos 9 was written for Wine Before Breakfast in the fall. Along with allusions to Amos 9, it also contains allusions to Amos 7 and 8, as well as Psalm 139.

Gracious God,
You who control hurricanes and earthquakes, ,
Have power over the wind and the storm.

Where can we go from your presence?
‘Though we hide from your sight
at the bottom of the sea,
You will search us out.’

‘The wings of the morning
and the farthest limits of the sea’
Even there we cannot flee
from Your presence.

Such power is too wonderful for me.

How do we reconcile that no one
can hide from you?
None can hide
from the fierce love of a mother,
From the power that can leave a trail
like that of the wake of a hurricane.

Too often our images of You are incomplete:

We picture a loving friend-God
Who seems unaware of injustice,
Or an angry king-God,
Who seems bent on judgement.

How do we see the fullness of who You are?
How do we be honest about Your anger
and passion for justice,
while still resting in your grace?

We thus pray for the church
and how we proclaim who You are,
We lament especially how people have been harmed
when your image has been distorted
by proclaiming only one side of who you are.

[Silent, spoken, and written prayers for the church and for those you have been hurt by distorted images of God.]

All-powerful God,
‘You who build your upper chambers in the heavens,
and found your vault upon the earth;
You who call for the waters of the sea,
and pour them out upon the surface of the earth—
the Lord Almighty is your name.’

You punish those who turn their backs on justice,
who reject their identities as divine image-bearers;
You call for justice to flow down like waters.
So why then does injustice seem to thrive?

The poor are still bought for silver
and the needy for a pair of sandals.
So many goods are produced by those not earning a living wage.
The land is exploited,
a continuation of treaties that took advantage of others.

We lament the injustice in the world
and the suffering of those around us.

[Silent, spoken, and written prayers of lament for the suffering and injustices in the world].

God of all justice,
Protect us from your anger.
Fix your eyes on us for good
and not for harm.

We confess for how
we’ve participated in the wrong around us.
We’ve had a part in the fires raging in the world.
We have made it hard for others to breathe.

Distracted by social media and the news,
caught up in our work and worries.
Attracted to images of strength
instead of humility and truth.
We suffer a famine of ‘hearing the words of the LORD.’

[Silent, spoken, and written prayers of confession]

God of all hope,
May we see that you relent
not because of who we are
– and whether we are good enough -
But because of who you are.

Give us eyes to imagine a different story.
To see how your might
shapes a new world.

May we see how you care for all people.
That we, who are not the chosen people,
who were not the first people -
But instead are the Ethiopians,
the settlers and colonizers -
That you would care as much for us 
as for any other.

Recognizing the great gift of being included,
We lament all those who continue to be marginalized
and also give thanks for how you have included all of us.

[Silent, spoken, and written words of thanksgiving]

Gracious God,
Even as we long to hear
and speak words for restoration,
may we never stop mourning the suffering of the world.

May your presence inspire comfort and not fear.
May we look for how You are working in the world.
May we see justice rolling down like rivers.

Amen.

Slaughter of the Innocents - December 28 (and January 11)

In many liturgical traditions, on the fourth day of Christmas the church remembers the innocents slaughtered in Bethlehem as Herod tries to kill the king that the magi came and visited (Matthew 2:13-23). As Christmas is a time of joy, it is disconcerting to have this story of great suffering break into the celebration.

Yet, there is also something good about reading this story so close to Christmas, as Esau McCaulley, the author of a recent New York Times article points out:

"The church calendar calls Christians and others to remember that we live in a world in which political leaders are willing to sacrifice the lives of the innocent on the altar of power. We are forced to recall that this is a world with families on the run, where the weeping of mothers is often not enough to win mercy for their children. More than anything, the story of the innocents calls upon us to consider the moral cost of the perpetual battle for power in which the poor tend to have the highest casualty rate.

But how can such a bloody and sad tale do anything other than add to our despair? The Christmas story must be told in the context of suffering and death because that’s the only way the story makes any sense. Where else can one speak about Christmas other than in a world in which racism, sexism, classism, materialism and the devaluation of human life are commonplace? People are hurting, and the epicenter of that hurt, according to the Feast of the Holy Innocents, remains the focus of God’s concern."

Christmas is a time of joy and hope only when it recognizes the suffering of people today - and our desperate need for Christ's coming to change everything.

Besides the encouraging and challenging words that the article brings, the presence of the article itself in the New York Times also gives me hope. How can I not be encouraged when a major newspaper, read by so many people who are unfamiliar with Christianity, carries an article like this (and that on Advent) that clearly presents the real hope of Christ to a hurting world?


For further reflections on the story, see the Empire Remixed blog, of which the following is a quote:

"You see, just as the Christ child in the manger
becomes cheap sentimentality apart from
the refugee family running for their lives,
so also is the refugee child
reduced to unfair escapism
if divorced from the bodies strewn all around
Bethlehem after the Holy Family flees."

Advent: Face the Darkness

As the days continue to get shorter and the busy-ness related to Christmas continues, I invite you to ponder these words about Advent:

"To practice Advent is to lean into an almost cosmic ache: our deep, wordless desire for things to be made right and the incompleteness we find in the meantime. We dwell in a world still racked with conflict, violence, suffering, darkness. Advent holds space for our grief, and it reminds us that all of us, in one way or another, are not only wounded by the evil in the world but are also wielders of it, contributing our own moments of unkindness or impatience or selfishness."- Tish Harrison Warren

As we enter this last week of Advent, I encourage you to read the whole article if you haven't already done so.

Changing the colours in the chapel (part 2)

What began yesterday as a discussion about changing the colours in the chapel ended up in a rather lengthy diversion on the complications of finishing a PhD (and more so, being married to someone who is doing that). And so we return to the original topic - and Matthijs's thoughts about it:

"But of course that was not the topic of this blog. Changing the colours in the chapel, however, is. This is something Brenda used to do in the past and sometimes still does. Last Friday morning I (Matthijs) had a go at it (and Brenda really quite appropriately reminded me, since I had promised the person who now has this task that one of us would do it).  

note from Brenda: I was willing to do it, I just hadn't timed getting ready in the morning well, and so it was actually a bit uncertain if I'd be able to manage to have it done before chapel started - so I was glad Matthijs offered to do something that is technically still one of my tasks in the community!

Our community of Oudezijds 100 has the charming custom of honouring the holy days of the blessed virgin Mary by hanging up blue curtains instead of the green ones that are usual for this season. That was for last Thursday, the day of the Assumption (or Dormition for the Orthodox). And so on Friday morning I had to change them back to green. I found out that in typical Oudezijds100 fashion, the changing of the curtains is less easy than it looks, since the system is old and crappy, and the curtains very easily slide off their rails so you have to redo them. So it took a bit longer than expected. And then the person who was supposed to do chapel didn’t show up, so I ended up doing chapel too, with minimal time for reflection about prayer themes, and not even time to read the Bible reading beforehand. 

 

So, chapel was a bit improvised. The reading was a surprise to all of us, since it was from the deuterocanonical book of Wisdom, and I do not think I or anyone else had ever read it before. But I was happy about doing chapel anyways. One of the good things of our chapel service is that you can bring out what you like to sing, according to your own tradition, and to pray for what preoccupies you most. The key to doing chapel is, for me, being prepared to offer some something of your own spiritual life and concerns in prayer, and for the rest to keep track of the time and the liturgical frame. It brings out something of the original calling we all have, as Christians. Every Christian is a born follower of Christ, but in the same sense also a born leader, as when leading a simple prayer service. Fulfilling this role brings me back to something I feel called to be. Which is something to be grateful for." 

I was a stranger, and you did not let me in.

I sometimes help with welcoming/ushering in the Oudekerk. We usually do it in a team of two, where one person readies the books and liturgies (bulletins), while the other person stands at the door. The one at the door both welcomes those coming to church but also tries to keep the majority of the tourists out.

I haven't always liked standing at the door. Repeating the phrase "are you here for the church service?" fifty times before church isn't exactly conducive to getting ready to worship. Furthermore, preventing people from entering a church feels distinctly un-welcoming, more so considering that theologically and practically speaking the church is just the place where people ought to be the most welcome!

But slowly I have learned to see standing at the door as a place of welcome, especially to all those looking to meet God. To the members of the congregation, the welcome is a simple smile and/or a few words exchanged. For those visiting, it is a reassurance that yes, this is the right entrance, and they are very welcome. For those indicating that they simply want to admire good architecture, I let them know that they are welcome to return during visiting hours. Although it feels strange to tell someone that they are not now welcome in the church, I know that I am doing so in order to be more welcoming to those who have come to meet God. Many tourists before and during the service can be distracting and hindering for worship, especially if they seem to be unaware of churches as anything other than beautiful historical buildings. Many then turn aside and make new plans, yet others ask for just a few minutes or time to pray. Turning these people aside is something I find hard - and I am thankful that as a church we've felt more freedom in being able to welcome this group. Most of the time - assuming the group is not so big, the church service has not begun, and we seem to understand each other's expectations - I then welcome them for a short period into part of the church.

But then there are those coming who claim to want to attend the church service but about whom I have my doubts. Some I let in quite easily, while others I question and do not let them immediately pass - especially if they are almost late or with a large group. At the same time, I do not want keep those out who have truly come to worship. And my judgment of who actually has come for the service is not always accurate, as this morning's service reminded me. Of the 20 or so people I let in who did not appear dressed for church or likely to be there for worship, more than the half stayed for and participated in much of the service. For me, it is a gentle reminder to be more open and welcoming to the stranger, as God may be working in her/him in ways that I can not recognize or immediately expect.

Easter Labyrinth

On Holy Saturday, artist friends set up a labyrinth in the chapel of the community (see the blog about art in the chapel [also in English, albeit less frequently updated). It was a wonderful way of becoming still and, amidst the busyness of Easter, become physically more attuned to God. Walking the labyrinth reminded me of each person’s own journey with God – the long path, which sometimes seems to repeat itself and go nowhere quickly, of walking with and following God. It is an experience I had already a number of years ago walking a labyrinth, and it was good to remember how such a simple experience can touch one so deeply. It is as if, through physically re-enacting one’s walk with God, one sees and knows the journey in a new way.

Theologically, it also reminded me of the strange middle-ness of Holy Saturday – the day when sometimes you cannot see the end of the journey or the hope inherent in Easter and the resurrection. And so each time we came to chapel, the long pathway of the middle was a physical reminder of those stuck not knowing which way or to whom to turn.

I am thankful to those who made this possible (e.g., Willemijn, zr Rosaliene, David) and hope that more geurilla labyrinths will appear so that others can also remember (and hopefully next time I will have more energy and time to be able to help this strange and wonderful ministry).

Today Hosanna, tomorrow crucify him

No matter how often we sing it, the words of hymn 173 in Liedboek voor de kerken remain always somewhat startling: "today 'Hosanna;' tomorrow 'crucify him.'" It has often puzzled me how people could switch so quickly from proclaiming Jesus as king to crucifying him as a rebel (or thief). Even the switch in the words of the song feels so startling: Hosanna and crucify in one breath. Abbot Andrew from Saint Gregory's Abbey explains in his blog about how people got swept up in the crowd, crying out what they thought was the most popular. It is worth looking at - a good resource for reflecting on Holy week.

He also talks about the traditional Palm Sunday service in Anglican (and Catholic) churches, which I have participated in several times. We begin by marching around the church waving Palm branches and singing Hosanna only to return to our places and hear the entire crucifixion story. It is traditionally chanted, and through the chanting one hears the story anew. We go from singing Hosanna to hearing of Jesus' crucifixion. The chanting ends with his being laid in the grave. It seems an appropriate way to start Holy week, stilling ourselves and remembering what it is that we long for.

As I prepare myself for this week of remembering, I am also confronted by the reality that during this week when one would ideally slow down so as to have time for more contemplation, I have extra tasks related to helping ensure that those in the community can remember and celebrate well. I share responsibility for the liturgical colours during the services and take care of the flowers, which takes some time but is not generally difficult. However, on Friday afternoon, I asked at least 15 different flower people if they sold buxus branches (what we use here for Palm branches) and got nowhere. So Saturday morning, I went out with my scissors, thanked God and my neighbour(s) for the buxus bushes growing semi-wild on my street and cut off some branches for our services. Odd behaviour for my neighbourhood, but no one seemed to notice. The whole experience forced me to prepare for Palm Sunday and Holy week, albeit in a way I was not expecting. Today we've been thinking about Easter songs and what we can eat at the Easter breakfast - Matthijs and I are in charge of the weekend team for Easter and one of our largest responsibilities is preparing an elaborate breakfast for about 50 people. It makes for a different sense of preparation, one I think many pastors and musicians recognize. We remember but also anticipate and prepare. Good Friday is planned ahead of time alongside of Easter Hosanna, crucify him, and hallelujah all mix together only to find their rightful place in this Holy Week: through remembering and worshipping.

Advent in the darkest time of the year

Here in the Netherlands, it doesn't get light until about 8 in the morning, and it gets dark before 5 in the evening. The Christmas lights and the Advent star make the evenings somewhat lighter - reminding us that the darkness is not all encompassing. Yet, it is still sometimes hard to get out of bed in the morning and gratefully greet a new day amidst a world that feels too cold and too dark.

It is also dark because of the time of the year. Last year my mother's sickness coloured all of Advent. Her passing right before Christmas only confirmed my longing for a world where there was more light - a world of healing and health. This year, the tragedy at the school in Connecticut has irrevocably coloured Advent. The darkness of sickness, brokennes, sin and evil, and death have come crashing into our remembering and longing for Jesus' birth.

It is in the midst of all the darkness that we as Christians long most for Jesus' coming. Not only his coming as a baby which marked the light at the begin of the tunnele (the coming of the kingdom on the earth), but also his return when there will be no more pain and sadness and death. As Christians, we have this hope in the midst of all the darkness. As the first chapter of the book of John says: "In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. ² He was with God in the beginning. ³ Through him all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made. ⁴ In him was life, and that life was the light of all humankind. ⁵ The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it." (NIV, emphasis mine, via biblegateway.com)

Palm Sunday

Palm Sunday is to me a strange celebration. It is a celebration of Jesus entering into Jerusalem welcomed as a King; yet, before the week is finished, he is crucified. The last line of the hymn we sang during our Palm Sunday service last evening captures it well - amidst a joyful, upbeat teampo, celebrating Jesus' entry into Jerusalem, we sing: heden hosanna, morgen kruisigt hem! (hosanna today - tomorrow crucify him!)

The church service today began with Hosannas and marching around the church with palm branches (buxus in the Netherlands) in honour of Jesus' triumphant entry. The service continued with reading the prophecy from Zechariah 9 of the king riding in on a donkey. Then Psalm 22, the psalm Jesus quotes on the cross: "why have you forsaken me?" and which talks about being forsaken and lots being cast for his clothing. Then Philippians 2:5-11, the hymn of Jesus humbling himself - even humbling himself to death on the cross. And finally, we heard the Passion story from the gospel of Mark, starting with the preparations for the last meal and continuing until Jesus' death on the cross. Upon hearing that Jesus 'gave up his spirit,' we kneeled for a few minutes in silence. We then stood to listen to the account of his burial. And the story ended there.

Several years ago, I happened to be at the monastery in Three Rivers for Palm Sunday, and I discovered the tradition of chating the Passion story on that day. It helped me to hear anew a story I have become all too familiar with and so no longer listen to it all that well. And the ending always strikes me - we end with Jesus in the tomb, and that is how we begin this last week of lent. And yet, today as I heard the story anew again, I realized that as we begin the week, we take with us more than only the intense reminder of Jesus' burial. Even though the Passion story ends with Jesus in the tomb, the service itself continued with the Eucharist - during which we proclaim both Jesus death and his resurrection. And as we left the service, we took with us the palm branches - a reminder of the welcoming of a king.

Weekend Services

If I had to summarize this past weekend, I'd say that it was a weekend full of services. I went to chapel 3 times, as well as attending an Anglican English Evensong, an Orthodox Compline service that was a Greek-Russian mix, a Catholic morning service, and a Protestant (PKN) evening vespers service. It was also obviously an ecumenical weekend of church services! An added dimension was the fact that I knew people participating in all of the services - Matthijs sang in the Evensong and Catholic morning service, a good friend helped lead the Orthodox service, and I could greet by name most of those who attended the vespers service.

Most of those committed to the community are Protestant, but that still leads to much diversity. Some are used to the Genevan psalms while others are used to praise songs and still others are most at home with chants from Taizé. Finding ways to be hospitable to others in worship - and help people to meet God - are often a challenge. Even when people all speak the same language (not always a guarantee - we had Spanish speaking guests in the community this weekend), each person's language of faith is hardly the same. As such, it is hardly obvious that there could be a common language to come before God - or even introduce people to God (as some of those living in the community wouldn't claim any relationship with Him). And yet, this weekend, surrounded by people in the community from so many different backgrounds, I got to see people come before God and meet Him in so many different ways.

I have to admit that it didn't surprise me at all that in each of these different places and different services, we were able to meet God. And it was good to see and experience God at work in the wider church.

A dove comes to church

During the vespers service last Pentecost Sunday, a pigeon flew down into the middle of the 'high church' area where we were sitting. And I couldn't help but smile - since in Dutch the word for pigeon and dove is the same word: duif. You have white ones and gray ones. The gray ones (pigeons) are the annoying birds that the tourists feed. The white ones are the gentle, beautiful birds that we associate with the Holy Spirit.

So what do I make of the fact that a gray dove (a pigeon) came to church? Simply said, it somehow got in and was happily enjoying the leftovers of Communion during the service. But the mere fact that it was Pentecost Sunday made the link between this pigeon and the Spirit simple to make. And I was delighted to be reminded that the Spirit would come down amongst us, albeit not always in the most expected forms.

And alongside of the reminder of the winsomeness of the Spirit, it was also a reminder of the steadfastness of the Spirit: like the pigeon that presented a challenge to those who tried after the service to shoo it out, the Spirit is also [thankfully] not so easily gotten rid of - even when arriving unannounced and not in the way we expect.

Ascension Day

I find Ascension Day a bit of a strange holiday for a number of reasons.

The first reason has to do with what to do on the day. Here in the Netherlands, people get the Thursday (and sometimes the Friday) off work. Back in North America, the most I'd nomally do to celebrate the day was go to a combined church service. In the past couple of years I've gone on a pilgrimage with the community. But now I've just returned from Canada, am not entirely into the dutch rhythm of things, and I'm only joining the community's pilgrimage for one day. So what do I do? Do I treat the day as an extra day to get work done or as an extra day of rest? I still don't know and am hoping to reflect more on this (although maybe next year I'll be again on pilgrimage or visiting again - and the question will be answered for me!)

The second has to do with what is actually celebrated on Ascension Day. It seems strange to celebrate Jesus' leaving earth. I can't help but picture the disciples confusedly staring into the sky after Jesus left. They'd been through so much - the crazy, overwhelming week in Jerusalem with all the tension when Jesus was finally captured, tried, crucified and buried. Then two days of shock. And then Jesus rose again! Their whole world was turned upside down (several times). So when Jesus says to stay in Jerusalem and wait for the Spirit, I can't imagine they really understood what he meant. The book of Acts notes that they once again asked if Jesus was finally going to bring about the Kingdom now. It doesn't sound like they really grasped what was going on: Jesus really wasn't going to be among them anymore and their world would be turned upside down again and again in the coming years.

It seems strange to celebrate Jesus' absence and the disciples' confusion - although seeing the disciples' confusion is somewhat comforting (After all, if they spent 3 years with Jesus and saw all this happening and still were confused, it's not all that surprising that I get confused about Christianity sometimes!!!). And so perhaps it's better to think about Ascension Day not in terms of the disciples who were left confusedly waiting, but instead about Jesus' returning home to glory. I tend to forget this part of the story, as the book of Acts doesn't tell what happened when Jesus returned to heaven after triumphantly conquering death and saving humankind. In this way, the Nicene Creed captures it better:

On the third day he rose again

in accordance with the Scriptures;

he ascended into heaven

and is seated at the right hand of the Father.

He will come again in glory to judge the living and the dead,

and his kingdom will have no end.

Jesus' leaving on Ascension Day reminds me that the story of the church and Christianity isn't simply about those of us in the church. We are, after all, the ones perpetually standing around confused. Instead, it's about the kingdom coming - it began with Jesus' first coming to earth, continued with his death and resurrection, and then with his Ascension. The coming of the Spirit at Pentecost furthers the Kingdom that will be brought into fullness when Christ returns again to judge the living and the dead.

Easter has come!!

Easter has come!! And with those words, the whole world appears somehow different. It is a world filled with more hope - not because of anything I have done, but simply because Christ has arisen. In comparison to the wonder of the Easter story, the troubles and worries that I might have all fade. And since Christ has conquered death, how can I doubt that He can work in and through me?

Hearing the Passion Story anew

Last Sunday in church, we read the whole Passion story from the gospel of Matthew: from Jesus'entry into Jerusalem until his death and burial. Then this past week, Matthijs and I listened to Bach's Matthew Passion. It was good simply to listen again to the story.

What struck me most this time was Judas. I've always found it strange that Jesus, in front of the other disciples, says that Judas will betray him (perhaps it is more strange that the gospels record no apparent reaction from the rest of the disciples). Yet, this time I found it less strange - a lot had been going on that week, and I expect that the disciples were all a bit overwhelmed at that time - a suspicion that seems confirmed by their inability to stay awake with Jesus to pray. And then when everything happens with Gethsamene and Jesus being captured, it is no surprise that they followed their gut reaction to disappear.

Judas's realization that what he did was wrong - that he had participated in sending an innocent man to his death - also stayed with me. Judas often becomes an easy 'bad guy.' Yet, his recognition that he was wrong, his desire to change things, and his utter despair over what happened (despair that caused him to kill himself) challenge my perceptions of him as evil. Wrong: yes; evil: no. And the saddest part of the story is that Judas killed himself on Good Friday before ever knowing what makes the day good: that his sin was part of God's plan to redeem the sin of the whole world.

Thirsting for one's baptism

This morning in church, the pastor passed on a beautiful image.

He gave salt to a woman preparing for baptism: so that she might become thirsty for her baptism. It was a wonderful tangible reminder of the longing to baptism, a longing that I don't know if many of us, in preparing for baptism (or profession of faith), know/knew exactly how to give expression to.

Being a newlywed in Advent

As I was sitting in church this morning, soaking up the reality that this Sunday marks the beginning of advent, I started wondering what it meant to be a newlywed during Advent. When I think of Advent, I think of the idea of "already - but not yet" - a time of remembering that God's kingdom is here already, but it is also not here - and we long for a time when everything should be as it ought to be. So how does that fit with being a newlywed?

Being engaged felt a lot like being in an 'already-not yet' period. It was a time of starting a new life together, while still recognizing that it wasn't until the wedding that the new life together would begin. And the wedding was the day we were waiting for - even if some of the organization could be done before then (like moving some of my stuff) - and some of the celebrating had already started (I had friends and family visiting for a whole week before the wedding!), it was only on the wedding day that all the planning involved in having the wedding and family visit and moving and so on would be pretty much over. The anticipation of having all that planning and organizing done and finally being to able start a new life together made the wedding itself feel a lot like Christmas. So, how do I wait again, now that I finally feel like my time of waiting is finally over?

And my thoughts turned to how even if we're now finally married and the wedding is over, the marriage is just beginning. And learning to adjust to the fact that Matthijs's home is now also mine, and my cat is now also Matthijs's (we're not sure for whom this is the greater adjustment!) is challenging, as is building a marriage together that's good for both of us: learning how to be ourselves while making space for each other and trusting each other fully. As those things aren't always easy, it now sometimes feel like we're still in the waiting period - like our marriage is "already, but not quite yet" still. And that's where advent fits in well - this beginning of the church year, just like our new marriage, is full of hope that things will be good. After all, Jesus is coming, so how could it not be good?

Shrove (Pancake?) Tuesday

It was probably in college when I first really recognized that there was something special about the Tuesday before lent begins. (The relation of Mardi Gras to Lent was still outside of my normal experience - and Carnival meant nothing to me until I moved to the Netherlands.) The idea was that since Lent included giving up sugar and fats and all those bad things, the Tuesday before Ash Wednesday was ideal for using up all those things - and since these things made great ingredients for pancakes, Shrove Tuesday became known to me as Pancake Tuesday. I don't think of Shrove Tuesday that way anymore, though. I'm pretty sure that's related to living in a monastic community.

This is how my Shrove Tuesday went:
- I had a normal day working on my thesis (which means I did some research when I got up, went to chapel this morning, talked to some people around coffee, cleaned up some, searched for a plant for the chapel, biked to the University, sat behind the computer for awhile, talked to my office mate, chatted with a friend, and tried to puzzle some things out);
- I had coffee with a friend.
- I picked up bread (on a bike, carrying two garbage bags full (no significant challenge anymore)).
- I ate spare ribs (not pancakes) for supper (the tradition here - celebrating the last chance to eat meat for awhile). And there was also brownies and whipped cream for dessert;
- I spent half an hour rinsing off the dishes. (There were 40 of us eating together and a significant number of pots and pans). On the bright side, it lets me get rid of excess energy, and I always feel like I accomplished something after that many dishes.
- I went to evening chapel, where we celebrated the Lord's Supper.
- I prepared the chapel for Lent.
- I listened to a guest speak about our Cause that we are supporting extra during Lent. (This also included the opportunity to eat a sort of donut that had was filled with this whipped cream stuff and lots of sugar and fat).
- I helped burn palm branches so that we'd have ashes for the service tomorrow.

Quite a number of times today I remembered (with joy) that life is never ever dull within a community. As much as it felt like today was busy with a lot of different tasks, it was also a delight to get to be share this feast day with others - and to share in the preparation for the time leading up to the next feast (Easter).

A Blessed Easter!

May you be filled with joy and the wonder found in Jesus' resurrection.

As part of the Easter celebration in my church, the choir will be singing from Vivaldi, with an orchestra. The song I enjoy the most is "Cum Sancto Spiritum." It can be seen on YouTube [though not sung by us - a version sung by us can be found on Facebook, where i'm tagged in the video].

To read a good devotion about Easter, you can visit Back to God Hour's online copy of the Today booklet (you might have to click on April 12 on the side first, though).

Have a blessed Easter! May today be a feast!

quotes for Good Friday

As part of moving towards Easter, the blog crconect has been providing "daily reflections on the a desert journey." i've been appreciating the quotations provided there and thought i would share a few of them here, with the hope that they might be a blessing for others remembering and reflecting on Good Friday:

“'It is finished' . . . should be taken in the sense of consummatum est­-it is consummated, fulfilled, brought to perfection. . . . This is the cross point in the Great Story, from the ‘In the beginning’ of creation to the last words of the Bible, ‘Amen. Come, Lord Jesus!’ At the cross point, everything is retrieved from the past and everything is anticipated from the future, and the cross is the point of entry to the heart of God from whom and for whom, quite simply, everything is.”
Richard John Neuhaus, Death on a Friday Afternoon, 187, 189.­

“A hermit had persevered for thirty years. One day he said to himself, ‘I have now spent so many years here and I have had no vision and performed no miracle as did the Fathers who were monks before me.’ And he was tempted to go back into the world. Then he was told, ‘What miracle do you want to perform that could be more extraordinary than the patience and courage God has given you and which allowed you to persevere for so long.’?”
A Desert Father

“Prayer . . . is not a rejection of the present; it is rather a realisation that the present is not enough.”
Alessandro Pronzato

"The glory of God is a man or a woman who is truly alive."
Ireneaus

All of "the citations come from John Moses, The Desert. An Anthology for Lent (Harrisburg, PA.: Morehouse, 1997)." For further quotations, see the blog.

Palm Sunday

i've noticed that the church liturgical calendar is shaping more and more of my life (being part of a monastic community will do that to you). and i like being shaped in this way. i look forward to the different seasons and am glad to join the worldwide church in living out our faith in this way.

and today is Palm Sunday, a Sunday that i have always associated with "hosanna" and Jesus' triumphal entry into Jerusalem. added to this now are memories of several Palm Sundays at St. Gregory's Abbey, filled with incense and a procession holding palm branches. and we would hear the story of Jesus' death chanted, from the triumphal entry until his burial. in hearing it chanted, the old familiar story would become alive again.

and today, i celebrated Palm Sunday in the Oude Kerk. at the beginning of the service, we all walked outside the church and entered again through a different door. it was strange to be with others holding hymn books and palm branches walking in the Red Light District, in the middle of a high tourist area. but there was almost something special about displaying our faith in this way. and my understanding of Palm Sunday has once again been expanded - i see a bit more the strangeness of proclaiming Jesus as king amidst a world that isn't really expecting Him - or at least not like this.

holy week is beginning, and the community will spend more time in prayer and extra time in remembering the events related to Jesus' death and resurrection. we've been anticipating the triumphal entry all of lent now, as we've been singing the Palm Sunday anthem of 'hosanna, hosanna, the king of Israel' to close our meals. and in the coming days, there'll be prayers at noon and bedtime, in addition to the usual morning and evening prayers. on thursday evening, we have a Seder (Passover) meal and we'll wash each other's feet. on friday, we will be painting as part of remembering Jesus' death on the cross. on saturday evening, in anticipation of Easter, a member of the community will be baptized in the Oude Kerk. and sunday, the vigil begun at sundown on saturday will end after 12 readings - end with a celebration of the Lord's Supper and a feast for breakfast.

i am looking forward to continuing to meet God in this time.