So an ex-student claims he's thinking of becoming either a Roman Catholic or a Pentecostal, an odd choice for a kid from my good Protestant stock maybe, but somehow understandable--and besides, somewhere on God's green earth there must be a contingent of spirit-filled Catholics. What's Amy Comey Barrett?--isn't she some kind of Catholic hybrid?
When it comes to religion, things of faith, there's nothing new under the sun. It's pretty much all been done; it's just that we haven't done 'em.
This morning it's Easter. All week long it's been Holy Week, Easter Week. Started with Palm Sunday, then Maundy Thursday, tomorrow's Good Friday, Holy Saturday, and, up on the main stage, this morning it's Easter Sunday. Amid the week's extravagant religious wardrobe, in my circles M,T,W go pretty much naked, I guess. Maybe next year.
Seven years ago now, SCOTUS ruled on arguments on same-sex marriage (should that be upper case or not?), and Christianity Today's on-line edition worried with this headlined: "If the Supreme Court legalizes Same-Sex Marriage, What Next?"
Tough question for evangelicals, who have a penchant for demonizing the sympathizers.
Somehow, given my guitar-pickin' friend, my ex-student who wants so badly to experience Christ, and those two old lovers renewing vows they never took suggests that legalizing same sex marriage won't mean the end of faith. Faith outdoes Heinz in its many varieties, and there's more options, it seems, every week.
Mother Teresa, a nun who may well have been the most honored woman in the world, whose ministries on the streets of Calcutta made her, literally, a saint, spent long and dark decades of her life believing "the bride of Christ." MT thought herself painfully abandoned by the Jesus she wanted to be. She spent decades wading in deep thick doubt.
Still, "Let the people eat you up," she told her Sisters. She didn't want to be like him. She didn't want simply to serve him or only to do his work. She wanted to die to the sin that was herself, so badly did she want to be one with the Lord Jesus, even though she believed he wouldn't have her. For years, she thought He'd left her totally alone--all of this behind a curtain.
Once upon a time, my mother had a Pentecostal friend who could and did, quite successfully I guess, speak in tongues. My mother said she wanted to experience Christ like that, so this friend told her that glossolalia wasn't all that difficult. "Just open your mouth and let it come," she said. My mother opened her mouth--it didn't come, and I'll never forget that face as she described her attempts.
But there were no words, not even mumbling. Didn't work. No tongues flowed from her soul, and she felt somehow abandoned.
It's Holy Week for all kinds of seekers, me included, all kinds of lookers and shoppers, men and women hungry for some kind of spiritual fulfillment. We're all looking really. The only ones I don't know if I trust are those who richly claim to have found it.
Most Sunday worships, a friend of mine goes high church with the Anglicans, but when he gets the chance he swings across town and bangs his guitar in a praise band, among folks happy to have him, if only for his guitar.
An old couple in Michigan--I read this yesterday--just got married. They were sweethearts sixty-some years ago, the newspaper said, but she broke it off because she was Catholic and he was Christian Reformed and never the twain should meet, or whatever, back then. She couldn't spend her life with a Protestant, she determined, so there were tears and each went on to have his or her own family. She raised nine kids. When the spouses were gone, sixty years later, the old guy went after her again, as if she'd always been the real thing, his Rachel, you might say.
The two of them are happy. I'd guess the strict differences don't carry much weight when you're eighty years down the road. Transubstantiation?--sure, whatever. The story says they took a trip to Europe when they were celebrating their birthdays, sleeping in the same room, I'd guess--hardly a big deal if you're eighty. He asked her to marry him at a restaurant atop the Eiffel Tower. I'm not making this up.
Somewhere along the line did they lose their faith or did it just grow? Talk amongst yourselves.
An old couple in Michigan--I read this yesterday--just got married. They were sweethearts sixty-some years ago, the newspaper said, but she broke it off because she was Catholic and he was Christian Reformed and never the twain should meet, or whatever, back then. She couldn't spend her life with a Protestant, she determined, so there were tears and each went on to have his or her own family. She raised nine kids. When the spouses were gone, sixty years later, the old guy went after her again, as if she'd always been the real thing, his Rachel, you might say.
The two of them are happy. I'd guess the strict differences don't carry much weight when you're eighty years down the road. Transubstantiation?--sure, whatever. The story says they took a trip to Europe when they were celebrating their birthdays, sleeping in the same room, I'd guess--hardly a big deal if you're eighty. He asked her to marry him at a restaurant atop the Eiffel Tower. I'm not making this up.
Somewhere along the line did they lose their faith or did it just grow? Talk amongst yourselves.
This morning it's Easter. All week long it's been Holy Week, Easter Week. Started with Palm Sunday, then Maundy Thursday, tomorrow's Good Friday, Holy Saturday, and, up on the main stage, this morning it's Easter Sunday. Amid the week's extravagant religious wardrobe, in my circles M,T,W go pretty much naked, I guess. Maybe next year.
Seven years ago now, SCOTUS ruled on arguments on same-sex marriage (should that be upper case or not?), and Christianity Today's on-line edition worried with this headlined: "If the Supreme Court legalizes Same-Sex Marriage, What Next?"
Tough question for evangelicals, who have a penchant for demonizing the sympathizers.
Somehow, given my guitar-pickin' friend, my ex-student who wants so badly to experience Christ, and those two old lovers renewing vows they never took suggests that legalizing same sex marriage won't mean the end of faith. Faith outdoes Heinz in its many varieties, and there's more options, it seems, every week.
Mother Teresa, a nun who may well have been the most honored woman in the world, whose ministries on the streets of Calcutta made her, literally, a saint, spent long and dark decades of her life believing "the bride of Christ." MT thought herself painfully abandoned by the Jesus she wanted to be. She spent decades wading in deep thick doubt.
Still, "Let the people eat you up," she told her Sisters. She didn't want to be like him. She didn't want simply to serve him or only to do his work. She wanted to die to the sin that was herself, so badly did she want to be one with the Lord Jesus, even though she believed he wouldn't have her. For years, she thought He'd left her totally alone--all of this behind a curtain.
Once upon a time, my mother had a Pentecostal friend who could and did, quite successfully I guess, speak in tongues. My mother said she wanted to experience Christ like that, so this friend told her that glossolalia wasn't all that difficult. "Just open your mouth and let it come," she said. My mother opened her mouth--it didn't come, and I'll never forget that face as she described her attempts.
But there were no words, not even mumbling. Didn't work. No tongues flowed from her soul, and she felt somehow abandoned.
It's Holy Week for all kinds of seekers, me included, all kinds of lookers and shoppers, men and women hungry for some kind of spiritual fulfillment. We're all looking really. The only ones I don't know if I trust are those who richly claim to have found it.
I just asked Google about the Easter weather forecast. Google said "Snow," which means it's not going to be the Easter of my dreams. Somewhere not far away right now, I'm sure, people are determining whether it's worth it to be outside for the Easter sunrise service.
How do you make sense of all of that religion?
We do what we can, I suppose. We look around and do what we can. Holy Week is always there. And He is, even when the best of us can't help but believe He's not, even when we don't or can't speak in tongues.
How do you make sense of all of that religion?
We do what we can, I suppose. We look around and do what we can. Holy Week is always there. And He is, even when the best of us can't help but believe He's not, even when we don't or can't speak in tongues.
Once upon a time, shockingly, He walked out of a sealed tomb and left death behind for all of us. That's the plain and simple truth. That's the only story worth telling.
Have a wonderful Easter, no matter what the weather. No matter how cold, how snowy, how dreary. He walked away and left death behind in an open sepulchre.
He arose. That's where we're at this morning and every morning. He arose. Hallelujah! Christ arose!
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