Tuesday of Holy Week

Disciples and friends gathered with Jesus at the home of Lazarus, Martha, and Mary. 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. Mary, above all others in the room, knew that Jesus was her Lord and Savior. She had once intently listened to his words at Martha’s objections. Jesus wept with her at the tomb of her brother. He then raised Lazarus from the dead. While the others failed to listen carefully 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 came her hair. Out came her most priceless possession. It could not wait. The perfume of adoration, love, worship, praise and offering filled the room and ultimately the world. That’s what extravagant worship is like…spontaneous, overflowing, priceless and permeating.

Yet, inside of the house as well, we find Judas, already being 'Judas' ... objecting to such a costly act of worship. ("Why wasn’t this perfume sold and the money given to the poor? It was worth a year’s wages.” He [Judas] did not say this because he cared about the poor but because he was a thief; as keeper of the money bag, he used to help himself to what was put into it.)

Outside the walls of Lazarus’ house, rumblings of fear and hatred could be heard as thunder in the distance.

And so, we walk into this Tuesday of Holy Week with the fragrance of worship, the greed of Judas, and the growing anger, fears, and plotting of the chief priests.

Monday of Holy Week

Sigh … my worship bulletin and the palm fronds tossed on the floor seem much like the day of Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem. Palm branches had been torn from trees and waved high in the air as Jesus rode through the streets of Jerusalem on a lumbering donkey. Hosannas were shouted. And yet, the hosannas soon stopped. The palm branches were tossed aside. Hopes were trampled by shouts, whispers, and accusations.

As I glance at the bulletin and my own palm branches, I am reminded that during this week we have a choice. Some of us choose to shout our hosannas for a moment on Palm Sunday only to drop our palm branches on the floor when the hour of worship is over, leaving the scriptures and ponderings of what is to come during this Holy Week behind in the pews…tossed on the floor … left in the sanctuary … out of our thoughts as we walk away until Easter morning. Others continue to journey with our LORD during these days … leaving nothing behind … making a cross from both our palms and our prayers for us to carry with us during this most holy of weeks.

“O God, let there be nothing left behind or tossed away by me in these coming days. AMEN.”

"Enough ... For Today"

The child who had

picked up

a broken and bent

and trampled-upon

palm branch

found a place to stand

at the edge of the dirt road.

The crowds grew.

Loud “Hosannas”,

growing hopes,

and whispers of great 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.

“LORD, please look my way.

Please wave at me.

Please let me know

that I am not as

invisible as others

make me to be.”

From the One

who was riding on a donkey

into Jerusalem,

there was eye contact …

there was a smile…

and there were words

from his soon-to-be-parched lips.

“MY BELOVED CHILD.”

And that was enough. 

Enough .... for today.

"This is the Day Before ..."

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 BEFORE ...

There is a growing crowd,

whispering,

murmuring,

shouting,

hopeful,

angry,

confused,

waiting,

watching.

THIS IS THE DAY BEFORE ...

Among the others

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 BEFORE

Wish'n and Hope'n

I'm afraid that we have watered down HOPE by too often equating it with our WISHES. I'm a writer and I see words as having different dimensions to them. WISHES are very flat to me. Mere words on a piece of paper, in wish-list form. Words that have no true hope or love behind them. No change of heart. No change of posture in and through prayer. No promise. No relationship or conversation with God and God with us.

But HOPE is different! HOPE in prayer brings Love into the equation! HOPE splits our very hearts open-wide in prayer, both on our own behalf and on the behalf of others. It is impossible to HOPE in our prayers without Love ... love for ourselves in the knowledge that we are one of God's beloved children ... love for others who are also God's beloved ... and love for the One who listens carefully to our HOPES, who sends us out to become Christ's very hands in these HOPES, and who is completely faithful in Love.

And so, if I say that I "hope" something for you (yes, you, my blog followers .. and you who have stumble across these words), know that what I have hoped are not mere words to me. Please know that my hopes for you have been whispered to the One who is Love. My hopes for you are surrounded in love for you see, it can be no other way!

"When Tables Are Overturned" (John 2:13-22)

It isn’t always to be found

in the quietness of our Lenten retreat,

or staring in a mirror at a forehead

marked by an ashen symbol of the cross ... 

startling as that is to see.

It isn’t always to be found

in these forty days, is it, O God?

In our reflection ...

or in our kneeling in repentance ...

or in our prayers for re-created hearts?

“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 Lenten journey,

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 Lenten journey of ours

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,

the fear-filled and the grief-stricken

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

Lent, Wilderness, and Forty Days

It is my wilderness …

  a place to which I am being led.

   It is my forty days …

yes, my forty days

    to endure and to seek,

to trust and to pray,

  to be surrounded by

   very tending angels.

       

It is my aloneness,

    and wilderness and forty days.

I would hope that

   you too might allow it 

      if and when it comes …

      for there is a Holy Presence here.

      

 The wilderness is born

    out of a great silence 

    that hopes for a sudden glimpse

  of God in worship

    when all others around me

    are following their worship bulletins

      so carefully … so dutifully … 

      so worshipfully … so very well.

It is my wilderness.

    It is I who sing the hymns,

     with parched lips.

    It is I who reaches out for the morsels

       that the Spirit hands to me

       when I am so malnourished.

It is my wilderness.

It is I who listens for shouts 

   yet am satisfied

  with holy whispers.

It is my response to God to live into,

   not others to discourage.

The words, “Get thee behind me….”

  are on my lips, on guard and ready

  for one more attempt 

       to change direction.

It was my wilderness, 

… my forty days,

… my seeking, 

… my journey, 

… Your leading.

Holy One, you are in it all

   and in that, I do trust

   these unknown steps

  during these forty days.

Amen.