A Palm Sunday Sermon

As with last year, I have no plans to post new content during Holy Week.  I'll be sure not to repeat my mistake of discussing my own personal (unorthodox) theology, as I did on Good Friday and Easter 2012.  (It was a distraction from Sa  However, if it might be welcome as you observe Holy Week, I'll leave you with a Palm Sunday sermon I preached 7 years ago -- seems like yesterday -- when I was working in parish ministry.

Hymns:

All Glory, Laud and Honor

All Praise to Thee, for Thou O King Divine

Scripture:

Psalm 118:1-2

Mark 11:1-11

Philippians 2:5-11 (below)

⁵Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus, 
⁶ who, though he was in the form of God,
   did not regard equality with God
   as something to be exploited, 
⁷ but emptied himself,
   taking the form of a slave,
   being born in human likeness.
And being found in human form, 
⁸   he humbled himself
   and became obedient to the point of death—
   even death on a cross. 

⁹ Therefore God also highly exalted him
   and gave him the name
   that is above every name, 
¹⁰ so that at the name of Jesus
   every knee should bend,
   in heaven and on earth and under the earth, 
¹¹ and every tongue should confess
   that Jesus Christ is Lord,
   to the glory of God the Father. 

“The Humility of Christ” – Philippians 2:5-11

Jacob Lupfer – First UMC Kissimmee, FL

April 9, 2006 – Palm Sunday

Where we are liturgically

            Palm Sunday is a special day in the life of the church.  For us, and for the two billion other Christians around the world, we are beginning a brief but intense spiritual experience we call Holy Week.  I want us to think together this morning about Jesus and the things we remember about him today and during the week to come.  But first, we need to look at how this seemingly insignificant day fits into the church’s and our culture’s hierarchy of holidays.

            It is sometimes difficult for Christians to remember that Easter is our highest holy day.  In a materialistic world, Easter just isn’t the same kind of financial powerhouse as Christmas.  Christmas is our economy’s greatest holiday; so great, it seems, that the religious meaning of Christmas is sometimes difficult to hold onto.  Over the past several years, I’ve had a recurring thought around Christmas time: “It’s sad that we’ve commercialized Christmas, but I’m just glad they’ll never be able to do that to Easter.”  And yet, here we are…  I have a news story from several years ago that I want to show you.  The headline says, “War-Theme Easter Baskets For Sale In Central Florida.”

            Speaking of the shameless exploitation of Christian holy days, I’ve often noticed another difference between Christmas and Easter.  One way they’ve found to make more money on Christmas is to invent a “War on Christmas,” demanding that retailers refrain from greeting worshippers shoppers with the phrase, “Happy Holidays.”  “Holiday” being a godless, secular, anti-Christian word that means “holy day...”  You see, the so-called defenders of Christmas haven’t stood up against the commercial exploitation of Jesus’ birth – they’ve insisted on it.  Next December, when those retailers prey on my innate greed and discontentment and manipulate the power of marketing and mass media to lure me into their stores to buy my friends things that they don’t need with money that I don’t have, they’d better do it in Jesus name!  Every year the make-believe “War on Christmas” dies down when the quarterly profit sheets make it clear who the real winners are.  And in the springtime, I usually think to myself that this is a busy time of year, too, and I sure am glad that I don’t have to spend my energy taking up imaginary arms in any imaginary “War on Easter.”

            This year, I’m told they are actually talking about a “War Against Easter” on cable TV “news.”  The purpose of the “War on Easter” is to make American Christians feel like some kind of underrepresented, victimized minority group.  Yes, that’s right: American Christians – the majority religion in the most powerful and freest nation on earth.  Folks, there is no “War Against Easter” and as Christians, we’re not an oppressed group, no matter what the talking heads want you to believe.  It’s factually and morally wrong to suggest that we are, and it’s offensive to the millions of Christians in places like Afghanistan, Saudi Arabia, China, East Africa, and other places who, unlike us, practice their faith under persecution and threat of imprisonment or even death.  Ask yourself: Does it make you feel good to think there’s a war against Easter?  And do you really want retailers to exploit the death and resurrection of our Lord in order to increase their sales?

Humility of the triumphal entry

            If there is a war on Easter, it surely distracts us from our struggle to be like the Jesus we hear about on Palm Sunday.  In the gospel story that was read at the beginning of the service, we see Jesus sending his disciples to fetch a young donkey for his entry into Jerusalem.  The people hail him as a king, and we might expect someone like that to enter victoriously, dressed in fine clothing and riding atop a stallion.  Our gospel writer has in mind an Old Testament prophecy that speaks of Jerusalem’s ascending king as one who comes in humility, not riding on a stately animal, but on a lowly one (Zech. 9:9).  All four of the gospels tell the story a little differently, and the scene that we call Jesus’ “triumphal entry” is actually a little confusing.  The gospels seem to tell us that Jesus sees himself as coming forth humbly and with some trepidation.  But the crowds who greet him are apparently not sure what kind of king this might be.

What does the Bible say about humility?

            Jesus is portrayed as the humble king, and our opening hymn this morning included the lyric, “The Lord of earth and heaven rode on in lowly state / Nor scorned that little children should on his bidding wait.”  We don’t have to look very far to see what the Bible has to say about humility.  As one Bible scholar has pointed out, we really only need to look as far as the disciples Jesus sent out to secure the young donkey.  Here they were, not only preparing to celebrate a major religious festival, but also waiting to experience one of the most triumphant, momentous days of Jesus’ ministry.  These disciples might have preferred to perform a more exciting service, such as mapping out the parade route or passing out palm branches to the waiting crowd.  Instead, on the very day Jesus’ ragtag procession would be greeted with great fanfare, these disciples find themselves engaged in a rather unenviable service: masquerading as livestock handlers, performing a lowly service while some of their friends no doubt found more visible ways to help out.  To compare the scene to a modern-day parade, it’s the difference between the people riding comfortably in fancy cars, and the ones walking behind the animals dragging garbage cans and carrying shovels.  Yet Jesus, the humble one, calls his disciples to humble service.  Our gospel writer emphasizes this by devoting more than half his story of the triumphal entry to the task of securing the young donkey, suggesting there may be honor in lowly service after all, and, accordingly, lets these disciples go unnamed so that their service might be done anonymously, another characteristic of humility (Matt. 6).

The humility of Jesus

            When we speak about the humility of Jesus, the gospels give us more examples than I could possibly cite for you this morning.  We might think about Jesus’ saying in the Sermon on the Mount, “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.”  We might remember Jesus washing his disciples’ feet.  We might quote Jesus’ rebuke of the scribes and Pharisees, “All who exalt themselves will be humbled and all who humble themselves will be exalted” (Matt. 23:12).  Yet when we celebrate Jesus’ humility in the church, the text we just heard from Pilippians is perhaps the most relevant.  Paul seems to have a special fondness for the people in the city of Philippi, and even though his letter is written from a prison cell, he shares joy with them and encourages them to imitate the humility of Christ.

            We know that, even though the gospels are listed at the beginning of our New Testament, Paul’s letters were written first.  The section we heard this morning seems like a digression from Paul’s argument, and we are almost certain that verses 6-11 of chapter 2 are a quotation of an early Christian hymn about Jesus.  Imagine writing or talking to a friend, and suddenly a song or poem pops into your mind that makes your point more eloquently than you ever could.  That is probably what happened to Paul while he was dictating this letter.  And so it is quite possible that our text for this morning is actually the oldest passage in the New Testament, the first writing we have in our Bibles from early Christians about Jesus.  And what did those early believers want to tell us about, first and foremost?  His miracles?  His wisdom as a teacher?  Supernatural events surrounding his birth, death, and resurrection?  No!  This Christ hymn is all about Jesus’ humility, and how God honored him for it.

            Before he begins the quotation, Paul admonishes his audience: “Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus.”  Then Paul inserts the hymn, saying that Jesus emptied himself, took the form of a slave, humbled himself, and became obedient to the point of death, a death we will remember later this week.  The quotation goes on to tell us that God highly exalted Jesus because of his humility.  If we’ve ever wondered what it was about Jesus that caused God to give him “the name that is above every name,” we have found our answer.  According to Paul, the great preacher and representative of early Christianity, God’s exaltation of Jesus did not come about because of Jesus’ miracles, or even his teachings.  It was not because of anything supernatural, or even any kind of divine connection.  Sometimes all our layers of myth and tradition, and even the New Testament itself, can obscure this powerful point drawn from the earliest Christian text we have.  Paul tells us, clearly and without ambiguity, that it was because of Jesus’ humility that God exalted him, because Jesus humbled himself.

The virtue of humility in the Christian life

            Remember Paul’s opening statement: “Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus.”  Or, as he says elsewhere, “Be imitators of me, as I am of Christ” (1 Corinthians 11:1).  So, how do we practice humility in the Christian life?  Perhaps we would do well to remember the disciples who Jesus called to humble service.  Some of what we do in the church is visible and widely appreciated: chairing important committees, being a ministry leader, singing solos in worship, proclaiming the message like I’m doing now.  To those of us whose ministry is public, we have received our reward in full, so unless we take on an attitude of humility, our work counts for nothing.  The truth is, most of the work of the church goes on behind the scenes.  Many of you are, in a sense, like the disciples who got stuck with donkey duty (no pun intended…) In your own ways, many of you are imitating the humility of Christ as you help carry out the mission and work of the church.  You serve on committees, you visit the sick and homebound, you help take care of our buildings and grounds, you volunteer in the church office, you lead a Sunday school class or small group.  Others of you are being called to a work of ministry that you haven’t yet begun.  Whether you’ve been a servant of God for many years, or whether you’re just figuring out how to get started, we transform our tasks into true spiritual disciplines and even acts of worship when we imitate the humility of Christ.

Humility in Holy Week

            By the time Jesus came to Jerusalem, his reputation as a teacher and healer had spread among the people of Judea.  When the people waved palm branches a symbol of victory, they remembered the prophecy about a coming king.  That prophecy ended with a promise of restoration (Zech. 9:12).  The people had endured centuries of oppression, and by Jesus’ time many Jews nurtured the hope that God would intervene once and for all, send them a mighty king, and restore them to their former glory.  If Jesus was to be that kind of king, the people were ready to follow.  Over the next several days, however, the people’s enthusiasm for Jesus began to diminish, even as the religious authorities felt increasingly threatened by his teachings.  There is much more to be said about what happened during Jesus’ final days.  We have three special worship services during Holy Week.  On Thursday night at 7:00, we will hold a solemn, moving service remembering Jesus’ Last Supper with his disciples.  The next day, there will be a Good Friday service at noon.  On Easter morning at 6:30, we will have a sunrise service at the lakefront on the lawn just east of the gazebo. 

Where we are going liturgically

            The season of Lent began with a call to repentance and self-denial.  If we hope to understand the humility of Christ in the week to come, we must remember that the Lenten journey continues for a little while longer.  Even if there was a “War Against Easter,” true believers will not have much time or energy this week to take up arms.  Instead, we are faced with Paul’s instruction to imitate the humility of Christ.  Our task is to face up to the areas of our lives where the humility of Christ is nowhere to be found.  On this Palm Sunday morning, we are pleased to imagine ourselves among the crowd that greeted Jesus with shouts of praise.  A few days later, however, the crowds cried, “Crucify him!”  In what ways are we part of that crowd as well?  Holy Week is a time to explore these questions as we witness to our faith.  A great celebration is coming – we know how the story ends – but our journey to the empty tomb first takes us to an upper room, through an angry mob, and up a hill to the cross.

“[He] emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness.  And being found in human form he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death – even death on a cross” (Phil. 2:7-8).  Let the same mind be in us that was in Christ Jesus.  Amen.

Benediction

And now may the love of God, the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be among you and remain with you.  Go in peace.  Pray for peace.  Love and serve the Lord.  Amen.

The Highest Holy Day

Alleluia Alleluia Alleluia!


The strife is o'er, the battle done
The victory of life is won
The song of of triumph hath begun: Alleluia!


The powers of death have done their worst
But Christ their legions hath dispersed
Let shouts of holy joy outburst: Alleluia!


The three sad days are quickly sped
He rises glorious from the dead
All glory to our risen Head: Alleluia!


He closed the yawning gates of Hell
The bars from heaven's high portals fell
Let hymns of praise his triumphs tell: Alleluia!


Lord, by the stripes which wounded thee
From death's dread sting thy servants free
That we may live and sing to thee: Alleluia!


Alleluia Alleluia Alleluia!

The hymn, translated from Latin by Francis Pott and set to the tune VICTORY by Giovanni de Palestrina, was performed in the video by the choir, organ, and congregation of the incomparable Washington National Cathedral, a true flagship cathedral of liturgical Christianity and of American Protestantism.

This is the fourth in a series on Holy Week.  See previous posts for Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and Holy Saturday.

Easter is a wonderful day.  The idea behind it is so tempting, hopeful, and powerful: the triumph of life over death and light over darkness.  For many years when I was younger, I often felt sad and guilty celebrating Easter.  It was a glorious day, but there was one problem: I didn't believe in the literal, historical truth of the central miracle Easter proclaims: that God raised Jesus from the dead.  Don't blame my parents or Sunday school teachers.  I have no doubt that they dutifully taught me the Easter story.  They also taught me that a large white rabbit brought me (and every kid) a basket of candy and colored eggs.  If my belief in the historicity of the resurrection lasted longer than my belief in the Easter Bunny, it wasn't by much.  But I quickly and adeptly perceived which Easter miracle it was socially acceptable for a nice Methodist boy to admit his skepticism about.  From then on, I kept my mouth shut and tried to do what (in the words of Rev. Dr. Robin Meyers of Mayflower United Church of Christ in Oklahoma City) most Christians do: "Believe things they know aren't true in order to get rewards they doubt are even available."

To my great relief, I learned in college that there were, in fact, many strands of the Christian tradition that viewed the Bible's more unlikely stories through an interpretive lens that emphasized the meaning of the stories and the thrust of the entire biblical witness over the literal truth of a few supernatural phenomena.  Now, let me be clear: OBU was not one of those liberal-minded places.  Never has been, never will be, and that's fine.  But for me, just knowing that there might actually be some version of Protestantism that I could believe honestly and with integrity was a tremendous relief.  It provided some very thrilling intellectual and spiritual experiences for me that would propel me through college, graduate school, and a church vocation.

There are a lot of places you can go today to hear some guy's opinion about the meaning of Easter, so I'll spare you mine.  But I really do hope you will grapple with the hard issue that our eggs, baskets, bunnies, pastel clothes, and family dinners (my grandmother always made lamb) make it easy for us to dodge: most pastors and churches are asking you to believe something you may know in your heart is false.  And on that belief hangs plenty of other divine magic tricks of suspect historical validity, an entire theology based on the logic of scapegoating and the efficacy of slaughtered animal blood for situating people on the right side of God's wrath, and the implication that assent to all this is what ultimately defines whether you are "in" or "out" with respect to the church, God, and your own salvation and eternal destiny.

I would just like to submit for your consideration that Easter is about something more than what happened to Jesus' molecules.  Most of you will disagree, and that's fine.  I'm not trying to change your mind about whatever you believe.  But I do hope you will be fearlessly honest with yourself about what you actually believe and why.  (Surprising numbers of people, including born-again Christians, believe in ghosts, witches, UFOs, astrology, and reincarnation.)  Most people will concede that Jonah didn't really get eaten by a fish.  A smaller number will admit that Jesus' mother's pregnancy was started in the usual way.  But only a few will admit that, even though Jesus clearly was special/inspired/enlightened/divine, his molecules were not.  Once you come to terms with that realization, you will have crossed the Rubicon of faith.  It may be unpleasant to tell your pastor/mother/friends.  But on the other side awaits a life of faith that is more honest, searching, challenging, compelling, and meaningful.

A lot of people are concerned that there is a "slippery slope" between orthodoxy and atheism, as this 1922 cartoon depicts.  I would argue that the reverse is true.  If they can get you to believe one impossible, outlandish thing, they can get you to believe anything.  You'll have to stop caring what others think of your beliefs.  It's difficult at first but trust me, it gets easier.  During all those years I believed Easter was primarily about a divine magic trick, I never grasped the fullness of its true meaning.  I was so consumed by the obvious and overwhelming cognitive dissonance and distracted by the eggs, bunnies, pastel-colored ties, and lamb dinners.

Now, free from the burden of trying or pretending to believe in something I know isn't true, I have been able to approach Easter (and its truly glorious art, music, and liturgy) with an unmatched sense of wonder and excitement.  On Friday, I briefly discussed my reservations about the doctrine of penal substitutionary atonement.  That idea necessarily restricts one's view of the resurrection, whereas other theologies of atonement such as Moral Influence or Christus Victor (which the hymn above so beautifully expresses) emphasize the Resurrection more prominently.  I happen to believe that resurrection is literally a metaphor.  We celebrate Easter in the Spring of the year when the whole earth is experiencing a resurrection.  The azaleas, lilies, hydrangeas -- insert your favorite spring foliage and flowers here -- emerge from the cold ground and remind us that life triumphs over death.  The lengthening days following the spring equinox (after which the day is literally longer than the night) remind us of the triumph of light over darkness.  Whatever you believe happened to Jesus' molecules, I hope the grandeur, glory, majesty, and mystery of Easter fills you with joy and wonder today and always.

This I wish for you with all my heart.

Jacob Lupfer
Easter 2012
jlupfer [at] gmail.com

Holy Saturday

As I mentioned Thursday, we're taking a break from discussing policy and personnel changes that hinder academic freedom and quality at OBU.  In honor of Holy Week, I offered a personal reflection and have tried to point to different parts of the Christian liturgical and theological traditions that might be compelling and meaningful to people.  Today, with the Last Supper and the Crucifixion behind us, Jesus is in the tomb.

Holy Saturday
Observances of Holy Saturday vary widely throughout the Christian world.  In Roman Catholicism, there is no Mass in the liturgy for this day, and the availability of the Sacraments is limited to those who are sick and dying.  Protestant observances (except for Anglicans, Lutherans, and some Methodists) are, as far as I know, relatively rare.  Church Easter egg hunts are quite popular, however.  In my opinion, churches should not encroach on Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny's turf.  But I'm just a no-fun old fart.  And my bride is expecting our first child any day now, so I'll probably be singing a different tune next year, taking my toddling daughter to every Easter egg hunt in town.

Anyway, where Holy Saturday is observed, many of the atmospherics of Good Friday services continue.  The chancel area is stripped bare: no flowers, colors, paraments, banners, etc.  There is little, if any, music.  And, for the love of God, don't project PowerPoint slides!

In Eastern Orthodox traditions, Holy Saturday is a big deal.  It is known as the Great Sabbath, for it is the day Christ "rested" in the tomb.  Many Orthodox traditions celebrate the Divine Liturgy of Saint Basil on this day, which is the longest of the year.  Oftentimes, the service includes the reading of up to 20 Old Testament passages recounting the history of salvation.  In the afternoon, the Acts of the Apostles is read in its entirety.  Later in the evening, the whole congregation gathers around 11:30 p.m. After the liturgy is completed, all the candles are extinguished and congregants wait in silence for the proclamation of the resurrection at midnight: Χριστός ἀνέστη! ("Christ is risen!")

I have never attended a service on Holy Saturday.  If you have, I'd love to hear about it in the comments.

Easter Vigils
Because the liturgical day begins at sunset of the previous day, the Easter Vigil is an Easter service, and the first time the Resurrection is celebrated.

Most Catholic and some Protestant churches hold Easter vigils late at night on Holy Saturday.  Such services are affirmed from very ancient sources.  But they fell out of favor with Protestants until recent decades, when some traditions (especially Anglican and Lutheran) renewed their use.  In Catholicism and the Orthodox Churches, these services feature orders of Christian Initiation, where converts and new members are baptized.  It is also the first time since Holy Thursday that the Eucharist is celebrated. It is also the first time since the beginning of Lent that the Gloria section of the Mass is used.

Where this service is celebrated in Protestantism (again, I don't think it's very common except among Anglicans and Lutherans), the format is similar: there is the Service of Light and the Liturgy of the Word.  The readings recall the Hebrews' crossing of the Red Sea because Christians see Christ's passing over from death to life as the fulfillment of the Jewish Passover.  Other readins include the 118th Psalm and Romans 6:3-11, after which the Alleluia is sung and the gospel of resurrection is proclaimed (Matthew 28:1-10, Mark 16:1-8, or Luke 24:1-12).

--

In general, I think that by ignoring Holy Saturday, we miss an opportunity for a very meaningful observance that is crucial to the entire Passion narrative.  But we have to hunt for eggs, I guess.  Here are some notes on Holy Saturday from the denomination I know best, The United Methodist Church.  Interestingly, their Book of Worship provides a Holy Saturday service, though no congregation I've ever been affiliated with has ever observed it.  With this, I will bid you farewell until tomorrow.

Peace be with you.

Good Friday is the most agonizing service of the Christian year.

Holy Saturday is the most contemplative.

On this day, as no other, we are invited into the most profound silence of the life of God, whose Son, "of one being with the Father," lay buried in a tomb. That is what we can perceive from this side of Easter. From the other side, at services later tonight or tomorrow, we will celebrate how Christ preached to those in captivity and broke Hell's chains forever. But for this service, we speak from the emptiness of death as we know it and as the very Being of God experienced it.

We hear from Job, who had no hope for a future beyond this life and could not understand how God could allow such suffering to befall humans.

We join the prayers of the Psalmist that God may yet be our refuge in the face of danger and death.

We are confronted by the preaching of Peter, reminded that this emptiness and suffering are essential for a disciplined life of prayer.

We hear of the burial of Jesus and the political attempts to silence his followers, attempts that seemed likely to succeed.

And we are silent. Around all the hearing and the praying, we are silent. We join God's silence, the silence of creation, the silence of death.

And from that silence, we offer our prayers for the church and the world with the prayer Jesus taught us. And then, to silence we return to contemplate the mystery of the death of our Lord until the celebration of his Passover begins.

Good Friday

A good Friday to all of you.  I guess it's easy to call it a good day since we're not the ones being brutally executed.  This is the second post in our four-part Holy Week series.  Yesterday's Holy Thursday post is here.

Personally, I have a hard time with Good Friday services for some of the same reasons I struggle with some Advent services: I don't care for the way the prophetic texts are applied/interpreted.  One of my very favorite services is the Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols, broadcast every Christmas Eve on BBC Radio from the Chapel of King's College.  It's absolutely beautiful.  But it grates on me that the prophetic texts are interpreted as being relevant to the birth of Christ.  I have the same qualms about certain elements of Good Friday services.

But the biggest difficulty Good Friday poses for me is how to find meaning in this holy day outside the context of the doctrine of substitutionary atonement, which I don't believe in.  Most people, however, do believe in this idea.  Or at least they say they do.  And from that flows a whole system of what I consider unsatisfying theology.  Dissent from that idea and you'll quickly find yourself on the outside of almost any church or religious community.  One of the best books I've ever read on this subject is Saved From Sacrifice: A Theology of the Cross.  The author, Rev. Dr. S. Mark Heim, is a professor at Andover-Newton School of Theology, a joint American Baptist/UCC seminary.  I strongly encourage you to read it if you consider yourself a believing Christian but you have qualms about prevailing views of atonement.

A lot of church people point out that you'd have no Easter Sunday without Good Friday.  Yet, for a number of practical and emotional reasons, most people skip Good Friday observances.  Every year, millions of people crowd into churches on Easter having given no thought to Jesus' crucifixion a few days before.  This includes not just twice-a-year churchgoers, but also a significant number of people who think of themselves as very mature Christians.  Personally, I think they would do well to immerse themselves more fully in the liturgy, music, and ritual of Good Friday observances.

In Catholicism, it is a fast day, but not a holy day of obligation.  Still, Catholics fill churches and cathedrals around the world to observe Good Friday.  Here's an interesting (and I would assume unauthorized) clip from a papal service at St. Peter's Basilica in Rome two years ago.  I did not see His Holiness Pope Benedict XVI, but you can see the cardinals processing in and kissing the feet of Jesus.  The music is Palestrina's setting of the Popule meus.

A lot of Protestant observances include the Seven Last Words of Christ (scriptural citations quoting Jesus' utterances during his crucifixion).  Even in relatively "high church" traditions, the starkness of the service is meant to be arresting: no colors, no paraments, little if any musical accompaniment to hymns and solos, etc.

Here's a moving rendition of the old spiritual "Were You There When They Crucified My Lord."

A lot of art and icons present Christ alone on the cross.  Of course, many of these are moving and beautiful.  I also like the images that depict the others present at the crucifixion.  Here is Raphael's Descent from the Cross.

Holy Week 2012

For the next four days, we're taking a break from our incessant barking about the negative changes at OBU over the past 18 months and the many regressions in Baptist life over the past 30 years in general.  It's not that we need a break (regular readers noticed that we took Spring Break off).  It's not even that it is especially impolitic to be critical of religious leaders during Holy Week.  It's just that these days are so significant.  I'd rather write about their meaning and their mystery.

Background
Various events in the past 2 years have ignited our passion for saving OBU from fundamentalist encroachment.  But it's easy to forget that our little movement is just a tiny subset of a vast community that stretches around the world, back across centuries of history, and encompasses not just we who are living but also the Saints Triumphant, that multitude which no one can number (Rev. 7:9).  The people menacing Baptist life are just a small subset of fundamentalists from a diverse but relatively new stream in American Protestantism.  We use categories like "evangelical" today out of convenience, though it obscures massive doctrinal and historical differences and there is tremendous diversity in the evangelical tradition.  The "mainline"/established/institutional strand of American Protestantism, from which the fundamentalists decisively broke an already weak tie to the SBC, represents traditions going back to different Reformations in Europe.  Then, even putting the Orthodox traditions aside (with their own theological distinctives, mystical elements, and geographic strongholds), we have Roman Catholicism, as large as all of Protestantism combined and 1,500 years more ancient.  And even though this is "our" Holy Week, I can't help but think of the wider human family -- Christians' older cousins (Jews) and younger cousins (Muslims) in the Abrahamic/monotheistic tradition.  All this says nothing of the post-Western "next Christendom" about which Philip Jenkins and others write.

Anyway, the thought of all the people around the world past, present, and future for whom this week was, is, and will always be the holiest of the year makes me feel uneasy about doing Save OBU business as usual.  In my lifetime, I've been all over the spectrum in terms of religious belief and devotion.  Holy Week has been a non-event.  Holy Week has been all-consuming.  And it has been everything in between.


As a child and a youth, I remember only occasionally going to services on days other than Sunday.  My United Methodist congregation was not especially liturgical (one pastor aptly described our liturgical style as "high Baptist,") but modest efforts were made to mark the seasons of the church year.  We had a dear church member who made beautiful banners for the various holy seasons.  They changed the paraments in the sanctuary to correspond with the season: red for Pentecost, green for the long season after Pentecost, blue for Advent, purple for Lent.  Palm Sunday included a children's procession of palm branches.  Even though palms are native to Florida, they were so perfectly and identically sized that I later realized they were probably ordered from the Cokesbury catalog (a less overtly ideological United Methodist version of LifeWay).  This was definitely the only Sunday we ever had anything even approximating a "procession."  If I had to guess, the "processional hymn" (such as it was) was probably "Hosanna, Loud Hosanna" and not the more Anglican "All Glory, Laud, and Honor."  I don't remember Good Friday services at all, probably because kids were either in school or on vacation.  But I do remember the occasional Maundy Thursday service (and of course Ash Wednesday).  We never had an Easter Vigil on Holy Saturday.  In fact, I'm certain I was in graduate school before I heard of such a thing and even now, I can't say I've ever attended one.  I do, however, remember that sometimes my dad would take me and my brother to the church the day before Easter and we'd pick up litter in order to make sure that the grounds looked their best for Easter, when a lot of visitors would drop in.  I never told my dad this, but I always thought that was a really nice thing to do and was a true sign of integrity and humility, since no one ever asked him to do it and he never announced his good deed.  He was (is) a prominent community member and has been a faithful lay leader in the congregation, but he was not above picking up gum wrappers and cigarette butts to make sure the church glistened on its holiest day.  Our youth group always led a sunrise service for the community at a lakefront park.  Easter was a day to wear new, pastel-colored clothing (from Penney's though, not from Nordstrom's, just to be clear).  My church had a tradition where a moss-covered cross was placed in the courtyard and each congregant would bring a flower bud to place in the cross.  Most years, we took a family picture in front of that cross.


In college, I felt like Holy Week was a total non-event.  Though I would later discover that my childhood congregation's observance of Holy Week was somewhat less than many mainline churches, it seemed to me that in Southern Baptist life (or at least what I knew of it at OBU), Holy Week wasn't that holy or special.  As I write this, I'm enjoying Holy Thursday off from my Catholic (Jesuit) university, where I'm a Ph.D. student in political science.  I'm pretty sure we always had class on Holy Thursday and Good Friday at OBU.  In seminary at Boston University School of Theology (I did the two-year Master of Theological Studies rather than the M.Div.), I encountered "high church" for the first time in the stunning neo-Gothic Marsh Chapel.  This dynamic was evident year-round, but was on grand display during Holy Week.  I grew to love the liturgy, symbolism, and music -- especially sacred choral music and the rich tradition of Anglican hymnody.


When I went into parish ministry, Holy Week became the busiest week of my year.  Like most young ministers, I determined to remake the church in my own image.  By that point, my personal journey had taken me away from many classical/orthodox doctrines.  But I loved the music, the symbols, and the liturgy of the liberal Protestant tradition.  Since being religious, for me, had more to do with stories and symbols than assent to specific doctrines, I wanted to introduce a more liturgical Christianity to the congregation I served.  I wanted it to mean as much to them as it meant to me.  Needless to say, this effort never went very far and I don't think it was very effective.  In the end, being religious but not spiritual was a bad recipe for an aspiring minister -- I was a paid religious functionary who knew little of God, grace, or true piety.  Though my breakup with the church was a lot more dramatic and sudden than it needed to be, it was a pretty complete separation.  I don't miss the theology or even the community as much as you might expect of someone for whom the church so thoroughly shaped his social, intellectual, and vocational identity.  But I sure do miss the music, liturgy, narrative, and mystery.  Even after I fizzled out of church, it took a few years before Easter Sundays would come and go without me darkening the doors.


Being unchurched or post-churched has been eye-opening.  For some reason, Holy Week has become a time to reassess my own journey as I remember Jesus' journey to the cross.  Like a lot of people my age, I have church people from my "former life" who pity me or resent that I dropped out.  And I have new friends and colleagues who are shocked when they find out that religion was once such a defining force in my life.  Becoming involved with Save OBU has given me an interesting, new perspective on a lot of issues I thought I had left behind.  From age 18 to 26, as I reconciled the faith of my childhood with basic facts of science, history, and other disciplines, I searched desperately for some version of Christianity I could believe honestly and with integrity.  When I finally allowed myself a break from that struggle, I ultimately realized that it just wasn't as important to me as I once thought it was.  But you do find out that with or without you, institutions/churches/denominations are forever caught in power struggles and ideological battles.  When you quit, your "side" comes a little closer to losing.  I think this is basically what happened with the strand of Protestantism with which I identified most closely.  So many of us left church that our "side" ended up losing.  So to those of you who are still "in the trenches," take heart.  A lot is at stake.  Some of us just aren't cut out for it, though.  We have to be true to our own selves.


I'm not sure why I feel compelled to say all this.  I guess I just feel like I've met a lot of new friends through Save OBU and I want to share something of myself with them.  Especially to our student supporters, young alumni, seminarians, and people considering church vocations -- I've been where you are.  My journey has been quite different than I expected (and I've been through a lot of therapy), but I just want to say: Be who you are.  Embrace your struggles with faith.  Endure the dark nights of the soul.  Don't be afraid to question and doubt.  Your faith is yours alone, and not for others to judge.  It may survive; it may not.  But you will survive.  Above all, you need to be able to live with yourself, whether religion is an aid, a hindrance, or a surprising mix of both.


I've worked assiduously to steer clear of political and theological controversies for the sake of a unified movement.  Clearly I lack the bona fides to lead this movement indefinitely.  But because I've been all over the spectrum, I have close friends in all the various camps: fundamentalists who prize obedience and orthodoxy above all else; thoughtful yet believing evangelicals who genuinely and seriously grapple with the hard issues of faith; relatively more enlightened intellectuals who still feel a deep sense of spiritual longing; post-orthodox Christians who insist on a faith they can believe honestly and that can withstand the most rigorous intellectual scrutiny; hangers-on who are church people by tradition but feel deep down that this really isn't their thing; the unchurched (or post-churched) who stay away because they can't abide the authoritarianism, partisan politics, or squelched freedoms; people who are agnostic about doctrines but cherish the community; and atheists who span the spectrum of sympathy for or hostility toward the entire enterprise.


Enough about me and my journey.  This week,  I want to do a few things:

• Show a side of the Christian music/worship/liturgical tradition that some Baptists may not know much about but may nonetheless find enjoyable and meaningful.
• Suggest that there are other ways of understanding Jesus' death and resurrection.  If we see it as more than just a cosmic bargain and a divine magic trick, we might actually magnify its meaning rather than diminish it.
• Argue that increasing our reverence for and observance of Holy Week will stimulate not only piety and devotion but also theological reflection among clergy and laity even as it embodies ecumenism and Christian unity.
• Share little parts of my own story with people who might be struggling with cognitive dissonance and who wonder if there is a place for them in American Protestantism.

Can Baptists Be Liturgical?
As I mentioned above, I was surprised to come to OBU and discover that Palm Sunday, Holy Thursday, and Good Friday were not very high in the Baptist pantheon of holy days (though I noticed that OBU had a Holy Week Chapel yesterday).  The holy season of Lent was a non-event.  A lot of people even gave off a "just another Sunday" vibe about Easter.  I don't know all the reasons behind this difference.  A lot of it may be rooted in the important differences in history, liturgy, and even church architecture between heirs of the "radical Reformation" vs. the "magisterial Reformation."  On the radical side, we have Calvinists and Anabaptists whose heirs typically worship in plainer, sparser settings, whereas on the magisterial side we have Lutherans and Anglicans (and later Methodists) whose worship spaces are typically more ornate and laden with symbols and art.


I certainly don't want to express a value judgment about "low church" vs. "high church," because I've seen firsthand that both have their advantages and limitations.  But I do think that observing Lent and celebrating Easter as the highest holy day offers churches a chance to increase their congregants' faith and devotion as well as their cultural influence in their communities.  It's strange to me that in an overwhelmingly Christian culture, Americans know the holy days and seasons in Judaism and Islam but think Christmas is the highest holy day in Christianity.  Christmas is the holiest season in consumer culture.  Churches should embrace Lent and Easter, if for no other reason than to show the world that we don't rank our holy days based on the whims of consumer trends and the demands of corporations with 4th quarter financial targets to meet.  The number of American Protestants who seriously observe Lent is small.  I think evangelicals and Baptists should consider joining in Lenten devotions.  I'm not just talking about "giving up" chocolate or soda or reading the next, though that may be part of it.  I'm talking about a serious commitment to prayer and self-denial.  The benefits to Christians are obvious, and I think it sends the kind of counter-cultural message the church would like proclaim.


As things stand, the only thing a lot of Protestants know about Lent is that you can get a good deal on Filet-o-Fishes at McDonald's (a lot of Catholics don't eat meat during Lent, especially on Fridays). This year, Major League Baseball's Opening Day coincides with Holy Thursday and Good Friday.  I just think it's interesting that our whole society grinds to a halt for Christmas because the markets demand it.  Yet Lent and Easter come and go with no notice but an uptick in candy sales.  What difference would it make, spiritually and culturally, if tens of millions more American Christians properly observed and celebrated their holiest season and day?

Holy Thursday
We Protestants can be dismissive of what we perceive to be extra-biblical elements in Catholic traditions. But in this case, it's all right there in John chapter 13.  A lot of Protestants observe Holy Thursday.  It's often known as "Maundy Thursday."  Somehow, "Maundy" came into English from the Latin mandatum novum ("new commandment" -- John 13:34).  Though I have never seen it done, a lot of churches observe a rite of foot-washing on Maundy Thursday.  I think the most common observance for Maundy Thursday is the Lord's Supper, since the holiday commemorates Jesus' Last Supper with his disciples.  I have also seen Tenebrae services.  Tenebrae (Latin for "shadows") is a service in a dimly-lit space that features scriptural readins.  After each reading, a candle is extinguished, until worshippers leave in darkness, representing Jesus' agonizing, lonely night in Gethsemane.  


Another rite that is typically performed at the end of Holy Thursday services is the stripping of the altar/church.  Often accompanied by a reading of the 22nd Psalm, all decorative items (crosses, Bibles, etc.) and the purple Lenten paraments are removed in preparation for Good Friday services, in which congregants enter a bare sanctuary.


With all that activity, I'm not sure how seriously preachers or worshippers grapple with the many difficult texts in John 13-17.  But that's another problem for another day, I suppose.  There are so many beautiful and comforting texts to focus on: "A new commandment I give unto you; that ye love one another" (13:34a).  "Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you.  I do not give as the world gives.  Let not your hearts be troubled neither let them be afraid" (14:27).  Too many to mention.


Here is a Lenten hymn entitled "Ah, Holy Jesus" performed by the organ and choir of the Washington National Cathedral.  I posted the lyrics below.  The tune name is HERZLIEBSTER JESU.

Ah, holy Jesus, how hast Thou offended,
That man to judge Thee hath in hate pretended?
By foes derided, by Thine own rejected,
O most afflicted.

Who was the guilty? Who brought this upon Thee?
Alas, my treason, Jesus, hath undone Thee.
’Twas I, Lord, Jesus, I it was denied Thee!
I crucified Thee.

Lo, the Good Shepherd for the sheep is offered;
The slave hath sinned, and the Son hath suffered;
For man’s atonement, while he nothing heedeth,
God intercedeth.

For me, kind Jesus, was Thy Incarnation,
Thy mortal sorrow, and Thy life’s oblation;
Thy death of anguish and Thy bitter passion,
For my salvation.

Therefore, kind Jesus, since I cannot pay Thee,
I do adore Thee, and will ever pray Thee,
Think on Thy pity and Thy love unswerving,
Not my deserving.


If, by chance, you participate in one of these observances, let us know in the comments or email SaveOBU@gmail.com!