Thursday of Holy Week (Maundy Thursday)

You prepare a table before me

in the presence of my enemies.

It was when you asked me to help,

O God, that I truly understood ...

or at least understood

in the way that you asked me

to understand.

You handed a chalice to me

from the table you prepared

and whispered, "For all."

I gulped.  "Oh God... really?

For all?"

You whispered again,

"Look into their eyes,

offer to them what I have prepared,

Some might be your enemies,

but none are mine."

And so I stood,

at the end of an aisle,

with chalice in hand

and wept at the thoughts

of my enemies welcomed

to the table

that was prepared for me

in such a generous way.

The table was not mine;

the guest list was not mine;

the chalice never ran dry ...

nor did the grace and mercy.

Once again, I heard,

"Do this in remembrance ...

and remember,

these are not my enemies."

You prepare a table before me

in the presence of my enemies,

and then you say, "All sit ... together."

And still the chalice never runs dry

for those around the table -

not even for me.

Wednesday of Holy Week

The palm branches are now gone

and the garments have been gathered -

the dust of a Jerusalem road

no doubt still on them.

The question of the day

brings about more thought

than answers ...

"Who do you say that I am?"

The question is clear ....

the disciples have seen

and heard

and walked with this man

and yet one among them

wants a messiah

of his own desires,

not the Messiah

who entered into lives

with teachings of justice

and healings of spirit and body ...

not the One who resolutely

walked toward Jerusalem

with dust-covered sandals

and approached the city

riding on a lumbering donkey.

"How many coins? Thirty?"

There are plans and preparations today ...

A room is being prepared.

Coins are being counted.

Crosses are visible 

only on the horizon

of thoughts.

"What is happening on this day?

What should we make of it all?”

Tuesday of Holy Week

(Please read chosen scriptures John 2:13-22)

“Do away with your selective hearing,"

Jesus shouts,

"and your selective sight,

and your selective compassion

 and your selective worship."

"Do away with your tables,

so carefully placed,

waiting with shiny currency ...

perfect to make an unfair exchange.

Do away with the expensive sacrifices …

too expensive for those

who are most needy."

In this holiest of weeks,

when we still don’t understand

and when we see no need

for the clearing of those things,

we see you, Jesus,
methodically making a whip of cords

and we hear you shout –

yes, SHOUT at us!

"Do away with the distortion of worship!

Cleanse the holy temple!
Take these things out of here!

This IS my Father’s house!"

There might be a time

during this week

when our tables are overturned,

our money is scattered,

feathers fly,

and we find ourselves

scrambling.

There might be a time

when all we have left

is worship with no agenda

other than to worship our Lord,

and the forming of words

in our hearts of "injustice" and "love"

by the One

who shouted them at us

in the marketplace.

When tables are overturned

and money is scattered,  ...

when righteous indignation

of our Lord is seen and heard,

the least, the lost and the lonely

become visible

and we become a voice

in this gouging world.

When tables are overturned,

we might begin to overturn

shattered lives.

When feathers fly,

all might begin to soar.

(c)2012 anna murdock

Monday of Holy Week

(Please read John 12:1-11)

Outside of the walls of Lazarus’ house, rumblings of fear and hatred and power could be heard as thunder in the distance. Inside the home, clueless disciples and friends gathered with Jesus to enjoy each other’s company. Suddenly “the house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume.” There she was. Mary in worship. Pouring her most costly possession on the feet of her Lord. Anointing his feet with nard. Wiping his feet with her loosened hair. This was an extravagant outpouring of love and spontaneous worship that could wait no longer. It didn’t seem to matter what was said as Judas objected. While the others failed to listen closely as they walked with Jesus, while the others argued among themselves, while the others slept, Mary sat at his feet and listened. She witnessed God’s power. She experienced God’s love. She knew the one who sat at her table was truly the Messiah. Down comes her hair. Out comes her most priceless possession. It cannot wait. The perfume of adoration, love, worship, praise and offering fills the room and ultimately the world. That’s what extravagant worship is like…spontaneous, overflowing, priceless and permeating

"Enough ... For Today" (Palm Sunday)

The child picked up

a broken and bent

and trampled-upon

palm branch

and found a place to stand

at the edge of the dirt road.

The crowds grew.

Loud “Hosannas”

and whispers of discontent

surrounded the child.

He knew not what to shout …

his palm branch 

was a sad sight to behold.

He was pushed around

as if invisible 

(but that was nothing new to him).

The child’s heart raced

as the man came near,

riding on a lumbering donkey.

The “Hosannas” grew louder.

The child’s words

were only whispers.

“Oh, please look my way.

Please wave at me.

Please let me know

that I am not as

invisible as others

make me to be.”

There was eye contact …

there was a smile …

there were words

from the lips

of the One on the donkey ...

“My beloved child.”

And that was enough. 

Enough .... for today.

"Just Days Before Palm Sunday"

Along the way,

sitting in the dirt

by the side

of a well-traveled road,

a blind man shouts,

“I want to see”

and there is healing …

yes, there is sight.

THIS IS THE DAY

THAT THE LORD HAS MADE

In the fields

on the outskirts

of Jerusalem,

a weary one sighs

and whispers,

“You are my God.”

Bending down,

he picks up a palm branch…

broken and bent,

much like his spirit.

For that reason alone,

he holds onto it,

dragging the branch along

as he walks,

making what looks like

to anyone else

a path

in the dirt

outside of Jerusalem.

THIS IS THE DAY

THE LORD HAS MADE

There is a growing crowd,

whispering,

murmuring,

shouting,

hopeful,

angry,

confused,

waiting,

watching.

THIS IS THE DAY

THAT THE LORD HAS MADE

Among those

in the crowd,

is the one with the

bent branch

and the broken spirit.

Yes, caught up in the crowds,

I can be found ...

and you as well,

tightly holding onto

our own palm branch.

We wait …

for some unknown reason

we wait.

The path

into Jerusalem

remains,

brushed in the dirt

by a palm branch.

Why are we waiting?

Shhh…

THIS IS THE DAY

THAT THE LORD HAS MADE

(c)2015   anna murdock

reposted for the season

"Fingerprints" (thoughts on the passing of a sister-in-Christ)

My dear friend and sister-in-Christ, Paula Morse, passed away yesterday (3-9-16).  At the time of her diagnosis, she was told that she probably wouldn't see the spring of 2016. The "friend" part of me wanted her to see the Spring again.  For us, it is a visible reminder of resurrection.  As I think about Paula this morning, she has been looking toward and is now in the midst of a Resurrection that would pale the very best of Spring.  Paula was a UMC pastor and a potter ... and one who considered it her greatest ministry to tell others that they were beloved children of God.

FINGERPRINTS

The potter is careful

as she molds and shapes

the vessel that she has

thrown onto the potter’s wheel.

“Let no fingerprints remain,”

she whispers.

“Please, let there be smooth surfaces

and no fingerprints.”

Although never quite perfect,

she tries her best at

shaping a bowl

or molding a congregation

or bringing her own artistry and love

to a friendship.

She is humble

and signs her work

with what she claims

for herself

and what she has to offer

to others ...

“Beloved Child.”

As careful

as this potter might be

in leaving no signs

of her own fingerprints

on her bowls and chalices

and on other works in her life,

it is obvious that

the Master Potter,

joyfully careless

and lavish

and, with a great deal of love,

has left Holy Fingerprints

all over the humble potter

who is the masterpiece

of the Holy One.

How lovely

are the works

of the potter

and of the Master Potter …

one marked

by Perfect Fingerprints

and the other marked

by the perfect beauty

of her attempts.

And look! Both are signed

with the same reminder …

“Beloved Child.”