Category: Reflections

Dearly Beloved,
Grace and Peace to you.
         
         

He was oppressed, and he was afflicted, yet he did not open his mouth; like a lamb that is led to the slaughter, and like a sheep that before its shearers is silent, so he did not open his mouth.
         —Isaiah 53.7

I lay down my life for the sheep. No one takes it from me, but I lay it down of my own accord. I have power to lay it down, and I have power to take it up again.
         —John 10.15, 18

To take up your cross and follow Jesus means to be gentle and loving in the face of abuse—but it does not mean to be a victim, or to put up with injustice. It does not mean that you suffer for the sake of suffering; it means that you are loving for the sake of changing people, beginning with yourself. Taking up your cross is different from being a victim in that it is free, it is loving, and it is for the purpose of transformation.

The cross symbolizes our injustice and all the ways we hurt each other, whenever we judge, exploit and dehumanize people. It symbolizes the abuse of the weak by the strong. Jesus suffers the cross in love, not in fearful submission. He “takes it up,” freely entering into suffering that is not his (he is innocent) in solidarity with all who are judged, both the guilty and the innocent. He endures it with love toward all who despise and abuse him.

He does so freely. His life is not taken from him; he lays it down of his own accord, from a place of power—not the power of coercion, but the power of love, the power of God.

And he does this as an act of insurrection/resurrection, to transform both himself and his persecutors. He confronts evil and robs it of its power. He who is innocent faces our condemnation, he who is gentle faces our violence, and he denies them their power and authority. He does this to draw his abusers (including us) into his love and forgiveness. He does it to change us.

It is wrong to tell victims of injustice—a woman in an abusive relationship, workers denied rights, the millions who are exploited and persecuted—to “take up their cross” by enduring their suffering in silence. That is just imposing another cross on them. According to our baptismal vows we take up the cross by “accepting the freedom and power God gives us to resist evil, injustice and oppression in whatever forms they present themselves.”

We do not turn the other cheek in helplessness, we do it as an act of power. “I have the power to lay it down,” Jesus says. We do it in love and freedom, in order to change the situation. We feed the hungry, befriend the prisoner, defend the rights of the poor and oppressed, confront systemic evil and change power structures not as victims, but as agents of change, because we trust that when we lay down our lives in love, resurrection happens. And the point is not suffering. It’s resurrection.

         
         
Deep Blessings,
Pastor Steve

______________________
Copyright © Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net

Dearly Beloved,
Grace and Peace to you.
         
         
Jesus went with them to a place called Gethsemane; and he said to his disciples, “Sit here while I go over there and pray.”
         — Matthew 26.36
         
         
                  I
He does not ask great faith of me,
but only that I stay awake
to the prayers of the suffering.
         
         
                  II
In every faltering morning meditation,
my prayer mere tissue in the wind,
in every half-hearted afternoon,
heart drifting in and out of sleep,
there is One, soggy-kneed and steady,
who is praying
with all the heart of heaven,
unceasingly
                  praying
                              for me.
         
         
                  III
You are my prayer.
You are my companion,
my garden,
my sleep.

         
         
Deep Blessings,
Pastor Steve

______________________
Copyright © Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net

Dearly Beloved,
Grace and Peace to you.
         
         

While they were eating, he said, “Truly I tell you, one of you will betray me.” … He took a cup, and after giving thanks he gave it to them, saying, “Drink from it, all of you; for this is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins.”
         — Matthew 26.21, 27-28

We know where this story is going, and so does Jesus. The powers are already seeking his life. Judas has already snapped in place the last piece of his trap. Jesus will face injustice, brutality and evil. Even his friends will abandon him. And yet in the face of all this he offers extraordinary kindness. Knowing full well his friends will turn on him, he shares a meal with them, placing the one who who will betray him in the seat of honor at his side. He says his blood that will be spilled is a sign not of our guilt, but of our forgiveness. Even to his tormentors he will extend grace and gentleness.

Jesus’ response to evil is love. This is the fulfillment of his teaching of nonviolence. Watch in this Holy Week how Jesus embodies the steadfast kindness of God. Even to our deepest evil, God responds with gentleness and love.

As you witness this grace, confess your sin, and be honest with God about your hurtful ways and your complicity in the suffering of others—not to take on guilt, but to open yourself to forgiveness. Take your place at the table with him, among his Beloved who are forgiven. Eat and drink deeply of God’s grace and mercy. Pray that you may faithfully follow Jesus and take up your cross: that you may receive Christ’s spirit of compassion, and the courage God gives us to be gentle and loving even in the face of people’s fear, anger and violence. Go with Jesus into this rough world, bearing in your heart God’s extraordinary kindness to all people.

         
         
Deep Blessings,
Pastor Steve

______________________
Copyright © Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net

Dearly Beloved,
Grace and Peace to you.
         
         

Behold, your king is coming to you,
         humble, and mounted on a donkey,
         on a colt, the foal of a donkey.
                  —Matthew 21.5

         
         

O lowly King,
forgoing the war horse,
regal on a donkey,
King of Israel,
Ruler of the Universe,
lower than all of us—
Hosanna! Save us!
From our love of war horses,
of being above others,
of being right, being in control—
save us!
         
         

O Prince of Humility,
riding a burro,
Sovereign beneath us,
we honor you.
Grant us your royal confidence
in gentleness and grace.
For adored, abandoned and belittled,
over all things you reign;
over all things you prevail.
         
         

O thou whose majesty is invisible,
whose power and honor
look foolish to the fearful,
grant us love in the face of domination.
Grant us the courage to say
to all publics and powers,
“I follow the King of the Universe,
the little man full of mercy
on the jackass.”

         
         
Deep Blessings,
Pastor Steve

______________________
Copyright © Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net

Dearly Beloved,
Grace and Peace to you.
         
         

Their prayers go out
    some to a God they know
        some to a hope they have
            some to no one

Their suffering their tears
    their longing their silence
        their not believing
            is their prayer

Their prayers go out like rain
    covering the earth
        and we walk in it
            and do not know

like the song of a bird
    we do not see
        and we wonder
            what this deep aching is

like the smoke of incense
    we try not to breathe it in
        but it is our breath
            we too breathe it out

like spiderwebs we walk through
    we get off the elevator trailing them
        they are the laying on of hands
            we speak and they rumple our words

They walk around the house within
    We hear the footsteps, the floor creak
        Do we dare stand
            by the window?

Their prayers go out
    and haunt the earth
        a gold thread
            a line of tears

They are our prayers
    if only we heard
        if only we prayed
            They are God’s prayers

         
         
Deep Blessings,
Pastor Steve

______________________
Copyright © Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net

Dearly Beloved,
Grace and Peace to you.
         
         
This far into spring, there is still some snow in the woods, white shadows, fading crescents of ice lying beneath the thickets. I wonder how long it will take the warm air and rain to melt it all away. I wonder when the last spring snow will fall, and disappear.

This far through Lent, I’m not done repenting. This far along in my life, there are still icy places in my heart, resistance, life frozen up, covered. I wonder how long it will take for it to melt away.

The woods have no anxiety about this. Some trees are already budding, and there are little pussy willows fuzzing up at the edge of the meadow. Others are as bare and stern as in December. The beech trees are still hanging onto last year’s leaves. They do not compare or judge, or concern themselves with gauging the future. They simply open themselves to the sun as it moves in among them.

“How much?” “How long?” “How good?” These are the questions of the anxious mind, and are of no help. Leave them behind, go into the meadow, and wait. Our hearts thaw out, and sins melt away, not under pressure, not by grinding or digging, but by resting in the warmth of God. Rest there, then, and enjoy the grace that even with ice at your feet you are enfolded in a gentle, warm embrace. Let it hold you. Forget the blizzards of your guilt, let go of yearning for the summer of you perfection, and simply be in this present moment, held in the warmth of God.

         
         
Deep Blessings,
Pastor Steve

______________________
Copyright © Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net

Dearly Beloved,
Grace and Peace to you.

         
         

A spirit came, adorned in white,
with flowers of spring, in rising light,
and laid a hand upon my breast,
and said, “’Tis you, among the rest,
I love. And as each moment slips
away your name is on my lips.
Each breath you take, and then release,
I breathe, until such breathing cease.
And though you do not see me here,
I hold your heart. I’m always near.”
So deeply known, and loved, I fell
in love, and yet I could not tell
how such a lovely stranger might
have come to know my day and night,
my soul, the heart and boundaries
of all my life. Then gently these
and all my questions, with a smile
the spirit interrupted, while
embracing me, intent and grave
and ardent, and then gently gave
me such a look of tender calm,
and traced a line across my palm,
and, wreathed in silence, breathing peace,
said, “Truly, I will not release
my claim upon you, precious child,
‘till you are finally reconciled
with my low, patient, humble way—
no, not until your dying day.
I give you nothing, but enfold
your hands in mine so that you hold
me always, and you always know
that I hold you, ‘till you let go.
I will be with you, always near,
‘till you, like I, shall disappear.”
The spirit placed an airy ring
upon my finger, promising,
“To you, my love, I will be true,
and some day I’ll come back for you.
So watch, each moment, and attend.
It won’t be long; the path will end.”
The spirit gave a garland made
of flowers (that would quickly fade),
and touched my forehead with a prayer
and left me, trembling, standing there—
and yet, I vow, did not depart,
but lives here still within my heart.
Now every time I sigh, or sleep,
or sit in silence, close and deep,
I see the shadow of my friend
who is my path, and is my end,
and give and take, with every breath,
the gift that is my life, and death.
And all things change, and all things die;
each moment passes, as do I.
I die to all but this brief day
‘till I myself have gone that way.

         
         

Deep Blessings,
Pastor Steve

_______________________________
Copyright © Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net

Dearly Beloved,
Grace and Peace to you.

When Lazarus heard his name
he took a sudden breath.
With visceral trembling blood resurged.
But then, as when awakening some days,
he lay a moment, mired,
reluctant to rise from the familiar
swaddling of his death.
Rising, even more than dying,
there could be no return:
for if he chose to stand,
all he knew would then be lost.

And still now every morning,
each momentary wish for healing
is a risk, a wakening call
to change, to choose,
to leave so much behind,
and be again made new.

Deep Blessings,
Pastor Steve

______________________
Copyright © Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net

Dearly Beloved,
Grace and Peace to you.
         
         

That without a word
you sat with me in grief,
me wounded and alone,
robbed beyond grasping,
you silent and present,
beyond grasping—
this was love.

That you did not save me
but accompanied me,

that when I fell apart,
confident in the whole you did not try
to glue back the pieces,

that you did not protect me from my pain,
my heart’s crucial kneading,
did not root around in the ashes
looking for blame,

that you resisted the temptation of explanation,
the ruse of a plan, some clever dramatic device
as if the click of some little metal piece into place
could dismiss what was happening in my heart,

that you set me no timetable, that you planted
no fence beyond the strong horse of my anguish,

that you withheld your dexterous knowhow,
so readily shouldered the weight,
accepted the nails of powerlessness,
dared the nothingness empty-handed,

that you were still there
as the petals fell,
patient for the rolling away of the stone—

this is how you loved me,
helpless, raw and given.
This is how you love me still,
since love that has passed through death
will never die again.

         
         
Deep Blessings,
Pastor Steve

______________________
Copyright © Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net

Dearly Beloved,
Grace and Peace to you.
         
         
“Prophesy to these bones, and say to them: O dry bones, hear the word of the Lord. Thus says the Lord God to these bones: I will cause breath to enter you, and you shall live.”
         —Ezekiel 37. 4-5

So the sisters sent a message to Jesus, “Lord, he whom you love is ill.” … He said to the disciples, “Let us go to Judea again.” The disciples said to him, “Rabbi, the Jews were just now trying to stone you, and are you going there again?”… Jesus began to weep. … He cried with a loud voice, “Lazarus, come out!” The dead man came out, his hands and feet bound with strips of cloth, and his face wrapped in a cloth. Jesus said to them, “Unbind him, and let him go.”
         — from John 11

Under the roaring silence of your death,
a voice calls you by name.
Tunneling under the the world yelling at you,
a bird song that pierces iron walls,
a strong hand, unflinching, a voice
reaches into the dark mountain,
reaches through the cages and sewers,
the vast abandoned valleys,
into the shark’s mouth of fear,
into the cave of your death, and its own,
and finds the skeleton,
finds the bones made of stone and despair,
gathers your bones from trash piles,
and speaks to your fragments,
wraps its flesh around your bones,
gives them its blood, its breath, its life.
Only the voice of a love that fierce
can call your name
and you come out,
out of your old death
into the quiet morning,
a squinting newborn,
stunned, beloved, swaddled,
ready to be set free,
knowing nothing
but the sound of that voice.
         
         
Deep Blessings,
Pastor Steve

______________________
Copyright © Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net