kneading bread

kneading bread

Thursday, April 18, 2019

Community, Communion, and Feet

The Triduum - Maundy Thursday
Exodus 12:1-14; Psalm 116:1, 10-17; I Corinthians 11:23-26; John 13:1-17, 31b-35

During WWI, trench warfare was a standard tactic in waging battle. Digging long trenches – some nearly 2 miles long - allowed for a strong defense against enemy small arms fire and artillery. But high groundwater tables and cold, wet weather meant that soldiers would find themselves slogging knee deep in mud and slush. Boots would be overtopped and fill with frigid, dirty water and eventually lead to the condition we know as trench foot. In the winter months from late 1914 to early 1915, over 20,000 British soldiers were treated for the condition and it is estimated that trench foot killed around 2,000 American and 75,000 British troops throughout all of the war.

It starts with “...a little tingling, an itching sensation. Then pain, swelling, cold and blotchy skin, numbness, and a prickly or heavy feeling in the foot. The foot may be red, dry, and painful after it becomes warm. Blisters may form, followed by skin and tissue dying and falling off. In severe cases, untreated trench foot can involve the toes, heel, or the entire foot.” [from the CDC website] and at its worst, it can lead to gangrene, sepsis, and death. Now, preventing trench foot is relatively simple. The feet just need to be exposed to the air regularly and kept clean and dry. In an attempt to keep it in check, soldiers were ordered to check their feet every day, to keep them clean, and to change into dry socks. But it wasn’t that simple. In its early stages, it was relatively easy to ignore and the soldiers, busy with the urgency of battle, neglected these simple practices. The men in the trenches continued to fall not just to the enemy across the battle lines, but to the quiet enemy gnawing at their feet.

The tide didn’t start to turn until a subtle, but revolutionary change was made. The soldiers were paired off - and each was made responsible for inspecting the other’s feet daily. If you were responsible for your buddy, you were less likely to neglect the task. Protecting the feet became no
longer an individual effort, but a COMMUNITY effort. This simple act of servanthood, of looking out for one another, caused a drastic drop in the instances of trench foot and many, MANY lives were saved.



How terribly mired we can become in our relationships with our families, friends, co-workers, and neighbors as we get bogged down in resentment, guilt, anger, and unforgiveness. Little things about each other nag at us -- the perceived slights or the thoughtless acts. If we are not mindful, they can slowly and almost imperceptibly eat at us. Like trench foot, there’s a little itching and tingling and we try to not think about it too much. Maybe we can just let sleeping dogs lie, bite our tongues. But, if we do, those little things insipidly take hold, often before we are aware of the damage they
are doing. The anger and hurt are internalized and pushed down as we try to ignore them. But these small irritants, if allowed to continue, will eventually reach critical mass and rage out of control, threatening entire relationships, not to mention our own spiritual and mental health.

“Simon Peter said to [Jesus], ‘Lord, not my feet only but also my hands and my head!’ Jesus said to him, ‘He who has bathed does not need to wash, except for his feet, but he is clean all over.’”

Our baptism into Christ means that we are clean all over. God has forgiven our sins - all of them - but that does not mean we stop sinning. Our relationship with God has been mended and sealed in Jesus, but our relationships with each other still require effort, communication, servanthood,... foot washing. As much as we try not to, we will sometimes hurt each other with thoughtless words and actions, perhaps never aware of the level of hurt we have inflicted. Likewise, we will be hurt by others who may or may not realize what they have done. We can be hurt by our spouses or significant others, by our best friends, and by fellow parishioners or clergy. And we cannot handle these hurts on our own.

“After he had washed their feet, had put on his robe, and had returned to the table, [Jesus] said to them, ‘Do you know what I have done to you? You call me Teacher and Lord—and you are right, for that is what I am. So if I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet. For I have set you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you.’"

Note that Jesus does not merely say that we ought to keep our feet clean – take care of ourselves - but that we ought (and this is more of a command than it is a suggestion) to wash each other’s feet. We must serve each other. Like soldiers, we are responsible for each other’s well-being. We are to care for each other’s wounds, especially those we have caused. But more than that, we must look to prevent them. We have to look for the small beginnings that lead to bigger wounds and get them out into the open, washed away before they become toxic. We must regularly do the unpleasant work of exposing these hurts to the open air – of “Airing our grievances,” and confessing our faults. And this is not an individual undertaking. Like preventing trench foot, it is a group effort. It requires communication (and note that the root of the word “communication” is the same as in “community”).

Talking to each other is what brings us together and what allows us to understand each other’s pain. We have to be prepared for tough conversations that might sting at first, like salve on a blister, but that will prevent the wounds from getting deeper and more dangerous. Talking and listening are the beginning of healing. Many ruined friendships or failed marriages owe their demise to a lack of communication. Every act of partisanship or of war started with the failure to listen or to speak up about what was wrong. But every mended friendship or marriage, every reconciliation, and social healing comes from a willingness to do the often unpleasant work of talking and listening to others who are estranged from us. And this takes great humility.

Very shortly, we will act this out as a parable, literally washing each other’s feet in warm water and Epsom salts. The feeling of that warm water on our feet can be quite pleasant - even if the ritual itself can seem kind of weird. But the real work of which it is a figure often is not pleasant at all. Like the scrubbing of blistered feet and scraping away of dead skin, it can seem more painful than just leaving it alone. But it MUST NOT be left alone. It has to be done or things will only get worse. And it’s not just an occasional act - like bathing once a month whether we need it or not - but something we must do every day to keep ourselves and our relationships alive.

“I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. -- Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another.”

As daunting as all this might seem, Jesus has empowered us with an example of holy humility, of self-giving love, love that lays down its life for the beloved. It is this kind of love alone that can revive what otherwise would die. The gift Jesus gives us in this act of love is the gift of healing. In his love, we can restore each other. We can bind up one another’s wounds. Just as he did, we can take relationships that were torn to pieces and bring them back to life, stronger than before. With this gift, we are empowered to carry out the Church’s mission – our mission - “to restore all people to unity with God and each other in Christ.” May we use this gift well and may we use it often. Let it be so. AMEN.

Rev. Deacon Clay Berkley - Maundy Thursday - April 18, 2019
St. David of Wales Episcopal Church - Elkhart, Indiana

Sunday, April 14, 2019

WHAT DOES SALVATION LOOK LIKE?

Passion Sunday - Palm Sunday
Luke 19:29-40; Isaiah 50:4-9a; Psalm 31:9-16; Philippians 2:4-11; Luke 23:1-49

And so it begins. Another year, another Holy Week. Our journey commences with Jesus, as we relive the drama: the triumph and dissolution, the glory and the shame, the ecstasy, and the agony. We play out the parts in a pageantry of sound and color which has been re-enacted by millions since at least the 4th-century in Jerusalem and this morning by countless Christians all around the world. We find our own Bethphage from where to start the parade, a place to gather and hear that Jesus is coming. We take up our palms and coats to follow our Lord to the sanctuary our own little bit of Jerusalem. We proclaim that he is our King with songs and shouts, and we catch the fever of the moment as a strange but familiar word passes our lips. HOSANNA! Because of our years of Sunday School and Passion Plays, because of the bright red and verdant leaves, after so many weeks of violet and ashes, we find ourselves associating this strange word with praise and adulation, with great honor and great hope. But that is because the word and the gravitas of this day have lost some of their meaning. Hosanna is a greek and Latinized version of an ancient Hebrew phrase. הושיעה-נא (Hosh’ya - na). The root is the same as my name or Jesus’ Yehoshu'a - which means, “God Saves” Adding the ‘na, gives us a much different phrase, a pleading command even, Hosh’ya-na ––– SAVE NOW, O GOD! We first see it in the works of the Psalmist. 118, verse 25. It comes stuck between lines of praise, 24 This is the day that LORD has wrought. Let us exult and rejoice in it. 25 We beseech You, LORD, pray, save us. We beseech You, LORD, make us prosper. 26 Blessed who comes in the name of the LORD. We bless you from the house of the LORD. This is a festival hymn for a procession to the Temple. Quite well known at the time. Quite appropriate for the journey to Jerusalem to celebrate the Feast of the Passover. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if hosh’ya-na, “Save us now” was the cry of Israel in Egypt as they awaited deliverance from bondage. The deliverance remembered in Passover. So here we find ourselves. With branches at the ready to welcome the long-awaited Messiah, the anointed King who has come to set us free. But wait a minute, something is wrong here. He doesn't look like a king. Where are his armies? Where is his sword? And for that matter, where is his mighty steed? Jesus comes over the ridge riding a baby donkey. He has no army, no sword in his hand. In fact, he almost disappears in the crowd.

Palm Sunday Procession on the Mount of Olives
James Tissot (1896)
We have set up for ourselves an expectation of what it means to be rescued, to be saved, to be delivered. We have heard all that Jesus has done in the Galilee and the Jordan. Now we expect him to come armed at the ready. We are geared up for a fight to destroy our enemies and free us from bondage. But Jesus throws that all on its head. After an initially good show and clearing the temple of extortionists, Jesus spends the next few days teaching in the Temple. Telling us to love our enemies. Well, this just isn’t right. This isn’t how it's supposed to be. Over the next few days, our fever of triumph turns to dissolution. We spiral from the glory of the moment to shame as we realize that this is not playing out how we expected. It takes five days for us to go from “Hosannah!” to “Crucify Him!” It only takes five days to go from “Save Us!” to “I don’t know him.” What does Salvation look like to you? We still want a God of power and might. Deep down we all still want the armies and the pageantry. We want the fire from heaven to burn up our enemies. We cry out to be saved from the other. We cry out to be saved from the evil that lurks around the corner. We cry out to be saved from the enemy at the gates. But in reality, we really need to be saved from ourselves. We have to change our thinking. We have to embrace the paradox. Your king comes riding on a donkey. Glory is found in humility. Love your enemies and do good to those who hurt you. Forgive, when you want to take revenge. The King of kings is foremost a servant. The first will be last and the last will be first. And perhaps the greatest paradox of all, In order to live, you only have to die. This is all too much to handle. We do not understand the love of God. We are not willing to take on the challenge He lays out. Since God has not saved us like we thought God would or should, we find ourselves calling for the death of God. And because God loves us so much to come to us in human flesh, riding on a donkey, he listens to our cries and gives himself up to death. So what does salvation look like? not an army and not a sword, but a teacher on a donkey and a cross.
Hosh’ya-na! Save us, O God. Let us pray. And teach us how to be saved. AMEN.


Rev. J. Nelson - Passion Sunday - April 14, 2019 St. David of Wales Episcopal Church - Elkhart, Indiana




Sunday, April 7, 2019

Mary's Last Supper

The Fifth Sunday in Lent
Isaiah 43:16-21; Psalm 126; Philippians 3:4b-14; John 12:1-8

The theme for us this season of Lent has been threefold: REPENT, RESTORE, RENEW. Lent 1 and 2 we focused on Repenting of those moments when we fall short. Lent 3 and 4 focused on the restoration of relationship with God through the work of Christ and restoration with each other by our own hard work. This week, Lent 5 our focus prepares us for Holy Week and the final renewal of life in resurrection.

In this weeks Gospel reading, we have a beautiful scene in the home of Lazarus and his sisters. Jesus has just raised Lazarus to life, who had been dead for four days. His friends unwrapped his burial cloths, and John says, “they gave a party for him.” It doesn’t exactly tell us which HIM the party is for, but my guess is for Lazarus. After all, four days is an awfully long time to go without any food or drink. Into this scene, Mary brings a bottle of expensive perfume and she begins to clean and pour the fragrant oil over Jesus' feet.

Mary of Bethany anointing Jesus' feet with nard and wiping them with her hair 
by DANIEL F. GERHARTZ, 1965

I want us to come back to that intimate moment, but first, let us explore the complexity and poetic symmetry of this entire scene. John is clear to tell us that it is six days before the Passover. Exactly a week before those beautifully terrible events of Christ Passion would change the history of mankind forever. Jesus is aware of what is to come. Aware of his own death which must take place once he comes to Jerusalem. How at the center of all things, at the remembrance of God’s mercy found in the celebration of this feast to mark the Passover in Egypt and deliverance from death, that the people would reject life. We would reject the love of God so much that we would find ourselves calling for the death of God himself. But now at this moment, he has gathered with his friends.

At the table is a reminder of resurrection; Lazarus sitting up and eating. But also here is a reminder of death; Mary with her nard, a balm of oil and spices often used when preparing a body for burial. In this almost mirror of what will be known to us as The Last Supper. And just as he will later kneel down to wash the feet of his disciples preparing them for life without him; showing them how to serve each other. Mary, the Apostle to the Apostles, the one to always get there first. The one who will actually stay with him through all the ordeal. This is Mary’s goodbye meal with the LORD. This is Mary’s Last Supper. So now she takes the role of the servant kneeling before Jesus and pouring this nard, this burial ointment on his feet. But why? He is very much alive at this point. Why waste this perfume she was supposedly saving for his burial and use it on his feet alone. Why not pour it over his head like the Kings and the Prophets? Because that is not the purpose here.

I never fully understood the beauty of this scene until I was in Jerusalem. You may know that I really dislike wearing socks. I used to practice marching band in bare feet and like to wear sandals as long as possible. For this reason, visiting the aired Mediterranean climate around the Holy Land was perfect for me because I got to wear sandals. After all, that's what Jesus wore. In one way you feel closer to the land, to the earth that Jesus trod because there is less of a barrier between your skin and the sacred dust beneath your feet. But every night I would get back to my room at the college and cringe as I took my sandals off. My feet were dry. Caked with dust. Broken in the desert heat and split by the friction of sandal straps. The cool feel of the linoleum flooring helped a bit but what I really needed was water and oil in the form of some lotion.

I would take a shower, washing away the dust and sweat of that day's experience, and then I would sit and let my feet soak.  Always in cool water. After a good soak, I would have to rub them down with lotion, being careful not to slip as I walked from the shower to the bed where I would put them up to rest for the night. If for some reason I did not follow this nightly ritual I would be miserable all the next day. The pain would shoot up my legs with each step as the nerves in my feet fought back against my urging to move on.

Not only is Mary anointing Jesus here, but she is preparing his feet for the journey. She is renewing his body so that it may be ready for what is to come. In just a weeks time he will have another supper this time he will be the servant preparing his disciples feet for the road they would soon walk. But today Mary has prepared his feet for an even greater journey. God will give himself to death and those beautiful anointed feet will have to walk the hardest road anyone has ever walked. In just a weeks time, these feet will tread the hard flat stones of the Roman road which cuts through Jerusalem from the Pavement to the Skull. From condemnation to execution. From life to death.

Although not fully in mind, Mary knows this all in her heart. She is there to help Jesus walk the way of death to prepare him for his burial so that we might walk the way of life and be prepared for resurrection. This is a journey which is required of all of us. It is impossible without preparation and regular renewal.

Fortunately for us, God provides a regular form of renewal in our weekly partaking of the Eucharist. In being fed on the Body and Blood of our Lord we are renewed in spirit for the next steps of our journey. Like the scene in Bethany, this meal has both reminders of suffering and resurrection of death and life. But because we are human, this alone is not enough. None of us should ever have to make this journey alone. This is why the Eucharist is also called communion and we are called to live into that fellowship of renewal. It is in communion––in a community where we become servants to each other. It is our role as equal travelers on the way to bring renewal to each other. We are called to love and serve each other. We are called to anoint each other, to encourage each other, and to prepare each other for the next steps whatever and where ever they may be.

The path through Holy Week is difficult, that is why we have prepared for the last forty days. This road we walk through life is a difficult one but with each other’s help, we will make it through. The oil we pour is the oil of gladness. The fragrance is one of Good News. For the path that we walk is one that will ultimately lead to the renewal of life it will lead to the resurrection.

The oil is poured and the table is set. The end of this season is upon us, and the next steps of the journey are about to begin. Come and walk with me.

AMEN.

Rev. J. Nelson - 5 Lent C - April 7, 2019
St. David of Wales Episcopal Church - Elkhart, Indiana