Maundy Thursday

May the Lord who served be the one we follow; may the One we serve be honored in our service; may we, as we serve one another, and those we once called stranger, become servants of our Lord.

Traditionally, most years, it is our custom both to wash feet and to share communion on this holy Thursday. But this year that is not to be. Instead, we may well find ourselves returning back to the Word, to the relation of the events of that first Maundy Thursday night as they presage the events of that night and the next morning. That is, the celebratory aspects of the traditional get-together may be overwhelmed by the memory of what is to come: Good Friday.

In the old Book of Common Prayer that was first published in England in 1662,  and is still in use in that realm today, the emphasis is on the Passion, in the Gospel of John. The Epistle, granted, is of the Last Supper: and how we use it to proclaim the Lord's death until he comes. 

So the hope is beyond time. And yet it is now.

Somehow in all these events of Holy Week, Easter and Easter Week, we are to see beyond our own difficulties and sorrows, and the sorrows of Jesus and all his loving followers, then and now, to the hope beyond hope that the Resurrection demands. That it imposes on us, if we take it seriously.

Can we? Is that even possible?

Some seek to tell us that in past catastrophes, epidemics, plagues, and the familiar California litany of drought, rainstorm, flood, mudslide, earthquake, and drought again, "nobody helped anybody else, it was every man (sic) for himself." Well, no. I am reminded of those early Christians within the Roman Empire who became known for self less nursing of the sick, in times of famine and plague. And of those in brave London who looked after one another in the years just following the publication of the old prayer book, that is, in the Great Fire and then the Plague that hit that town. 

And I think of the self giving (there are the terms self-donative and kenosis, again) of the clergy and people who stayed in the city of Memphis during an outbreak of yellow fever in 1878. They included: 

The Martyrs of Memphis: Sisters Constance, Thecla, Ruth, and Frances of the Community of Saint Mary, the Reverend Charles Parsons, and the Reverend Louis Schuyler.

We remember them on September 9th, every year, and this year, perhaps many more days than one. 

Serving as relief workers at the Episcopal cathedral of Saint Mary in Memphis amid sweltering heat and scenes of indescribable horror, they gave relief to the sick, comfort to the dying, and homes to the many orphaned children.  

See how these Christians are, as Pliny the Younger and other Roman officials wrote in perplexion to Caesar, as they give of themselves, to each other surely, but also to others, even strangers. What shall I do with them?


Flog them if they persevere obstinate. That's one answer. And sure enough, they persisted. 

See how they love one another. 

But that's not it, not all of it, not by a long shot. 

For Jesus died not just to save the people of his own tribe, but that all might find hope and healing and salvation.

I don't think you have to sign up for anything. I don't think you even have to know or care much about him, or certainly not his followers. 

Just know that in Christ, in how he died and even more how he lived, God showed that there is hope, death is not the end: that love is strong as death, and when even faith and hope are gone, love endures.

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Revised Common Lectionary (Episcopal Edition)

Exodus 12:1-4, (5-10), 11-14
1 Corinthians 11:23-26
John 13:1-17, 31b-35
Psalm 116:1, 10-17

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The Book of Common Prayer, 1662

Thursday before Easter. The Epistle. 1 COR. 11. 17.

The Gospel. S. LUKE 23. 1. 

ALMIGHTY and everlaſting God, who of thy tender love towards mankind, haſt sent thy Son our Saviour Jesus Chriſt, to take upon him our flesh, and to suffer death upon the cross, that all mankind should follow the example of his great humility; Mercifully grant, that we may both follow the example of his patience, and also be made partakers of his resurrection, through the same Jesus Chriſt our Lord. Amen.

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From Lesser Feasts and Fasts, 2008 edition, pages 465-466:

SEPTEMBER 9: THE MARTYRS OF MEMPHIS: CONSTANCE, THECLA, RUTH, FRANCES, CHARLES PARSONS, AND LOUIS SCHUYLER, 1878

In August 1878, yellow fever invaded the city of Memphis, Tennessee for the third time in ten years. By the month’s end, the disease had become epidemic and a quarantine was ordered. While more than 25,000 citizens had fled in terror, nearly 20,000 more remained to face the pestilence. As cases multiplied, death toll averaged 200 people per day. When the worst was over, ninety percent of the people who remained had contracted the fever and more than 5,000 people had died. 

In that time of panic and flight, many brave men and women, both lay and ordained, remained at their posts of duty or came as volunteers
to assist in spite of the terrible risk. Notable among these heroes were four Episcopal sisters from the Community of Saint Mary, and two of their clergy colleagues, all of whom died while tending to the sick. They have ever since been known as “The Martyrs of Memphis,” as have those of other communions who ministered in Christ’s name during this time of desolation. 

The Sisters had come to Memphis in 1873, at Bishop Quintard’s request, to found a school for girls adjacent to St. Mary’s Cathedral. When the 1878 epidemic began, George C. Harris, the cathedral dean, and Sister Constance immediately organized relief work among the stricken. Helping were six of Constance’s fellow Sisters of St. Mary; Sister Clare from St. Margaret’s House, Boston, Massachusetts; the Reverend Charles C. Parsons, Rector of Grace and St. Lazarus Church, Memphis; and the Reverend Louis S. Schuyler, assistant at Holy Innocents, Hoboken, New Jersey. The cathedral group also included three physicians, two of whom were ordained Episcopal priests, the Sisters’ two matrons, and several volunteer nurses from New York. 

The cathedral buildings were located in the most infected region of Memphis. Here, amid sweltering heat and scenes of indescribable horror, these men and women of God gave relief to the sick, comfort to the dying, and homes to the many orphaned children. Only two of the workers escaped the fever. Among those who died were Constance, Thecla, Ruth, and Frances, the Reverend Charles Parsons, and the Reverend Louis Schuyler. All six are buried at Elmwood Cemetery. The monument marking the joint grave of Fathers Parsons and Schuyler bears the inscription: “Greater Love Hath No Man.” The high altar in St. Mary’s Cathedral, Memphis, is a memorial to the four Sisters.

(Pliny, Letters 10.96-97. Pliny to the Emperor Trajan. https://faculty.georgetown.edu/jod/texts/pliny.html. accessed April 5, 2020.)

 

palms and passions

 

Palm Sunday 2013 

How are we at welcoming Jesus? How are we at being welcomed by Jesus? For it is Jesus who is hosting us today. He is host of the Royal Banquet, the Last Supper, and the Paschal Feast.

What does it feel like to come to his table after hearing this gospel today?

(Imagine what it would be like if you were one of the people in the story.)

A number of times here I have preached at funerals on “I am the way, the truth, and the life.” And I have assured you that he is the way: that he was there for you, with you at your beginning, he will be there with you at the end, he is there with you always, and he will be there with you at the hour of your death.

When we suffer loss or grief, or face the prospect of the hour of our death, Jesus says, in effect, “I’ll walk you all the way through.” I will be with you.

He will be with you on this side of the veil and at the other end of the road. He is there always for you. And yet, who was there to see him through?

Who walks him through? Who walks with him through this horrible time?

In his fascination, his terrible fascination, Peter comes closest – close to the fire but afraid to get burned, close enough only to warm himself, and betray himself and be recognized.

And the Lord had said to him, at the table, Look, Peter, you are going to abandon me. You are going to fail and fall short. But my Father and I will not abandon you. You will recover – you will come to yourself – and come back, and when you do, look to these other ones, make sure they’re okay, help them pull out of it. (And after the Ascension we learn that he does.)

“Strengthen your brothers.” You who are weak, and fallible, yourself. You, who know what it means to fail, to betray, to feel a longing to be true to me again.

What does it mean to us the to come to this table after that, after hearing that? We like Peter are frail of character, of virtue, easily frightened away.

“Fear is all around,” as the Psalmist says, and yet – One is faithful, one in whom we can put our trust: “My times are in your hand.”

We are fallible, frail, and undependable. And he is faithful.

How does it feel to come to the table after you hear this gospel?

Call is still there. Challenge to be in the Lord’s service, to proclaim his death until he comes, even though we know we are among the betrayers. The fallible ones who let him down. We don’t mean to – but we do.

And yet we are forgiven.

And we are welcome at his table.

 JRL+

Who am I in this story?

Imagine yourself in this story, in this place.

Member of the crowd. Servant, one of the people in the courtyard of the high priest, warming your self at the fire. Soldier. Centurion. Thief. Executioner. Peter... Yourself.

The Liturgy of the Palms, Luke 19:28-40, Psalm 118:1-2, 19-29;

The Liturgy of the Word, Isaiah 50:4-9a, Psalm 31:9-16; Philippians 2:5-11,Luke 22:14-23:56, 

He comes to bring us life

As they approached Jerusalem, the disciples praised God with joyful exuberance for all the deeds of power that they had seen.

They were not kidding. He really was the Messiah. And they knew it. And they wanted to let everybody know it.

As he arrived at Jerusalem they set him on the unridden colt of a donkey, showing the prophetic advent of the peaceable king.

Here is the prophecy (Zechariah 9:9):


Rejoice greatly, O daughter Zion!
Shout aloud, O daughter Jerusalem!
Lo, your king comes to you;
triumphant and victorious is he,
humble and riding on a donkey,
on a colt, the foal of a donkey.


He was not playing the warrior prince, but coming as a restorer, a healer, a bringer of peace, a just man. One who would make right what was wrong, who would proclaim righteous behavior as the standard of God. One who would work for justice, for all who sought peace.

He was not kidding. He knew what he was doing. He brought into the city of David the message of the Kingdom of heaven: peace, justice, the establishment of God as the one true final allegiance of all.

And he knew what this could cost him: his life.

But he stayed true to his promise, to his mission. His integrity was absolute.

And so his whole life, that had been given to redeem humankind, came to its consummation, as he led the way to the Temple, and beyond it, to the Cross, doing what was required of him.

He has told you, O mortal, what is good;
and what does the Lord require of you
but to do justice, and to love kindness,
and to walk humbly with your God? 8
(Micah 6:8)

The Pharisees said, your disciples are making a ruckus, stirring up trouble. Tell them to stop! But he rebuked them in a prophet's words: If these were to keep silent, the stones themselves would cry out - for justice.

‘Alas for you who get evil gain for your houses,
setting your nest on high
to be safe from the reach of harm!’
You have devised shame for your house
by cutting off many peoples;
you have forfeited your life.
The very stones will cry out from the wall,
and the plaster beam will respond from the woodwork.

‘Alas for you who build a town by bloodshed,
and found a city on iniquity!’
Is it not from the Lord of hosts
that peoples labour only to feed the flames,
and nations weary themselves for nothing?
But the earth will be filled
with the knowledge of the glory of the Lord,
as the waters cover the sea.

(Habbakuk 2:9-14)

Soon he would drive out of the Temple the people who were there to monetize the experience, the moneychangers and dove-keepers, the purveyors for profit in a holy place.

He would teach in the Temple. He would eat the sacred meal of the Passover with his disciples. He would face his betrayers. He would confront the powers of this world. He would suffer under Pontius Pilate, be crucified, die, and be buried.

And he would rise again.

In every action, every word and deed he would accomplish in the coming week, Jesus would proclaim:

This is what my kingdom looks like.

From the triumphal entry into the city, through the passion, through his death, and on to his rising from the dead.

He proclaimed it:

The earth will be filled with the knowledge of the glory of the Lord, as the waters cover the sea.

(Habbakuk 2:14)

Blessed the king who comes, the king foretold in the Song of Zechariah, the Magnificat of Mary (and wasn't the Anunciation just the other day?), in the voice of John crying in the wilderness:

Prepare the way! The One is coming, who comes in God's Name.

Peace in heaven, and may it be so on earth. May we now prepare our hearts, to make him room, that we may receive our Messiah King. He is the one who brings us into just and right relationship with God, and with the world God has made. He is the one who came to give us life.

Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord.
We bless you from the house of the Lord. (Psalm 118:26)

Even so, come to us, Lord Jesus. Maranatha! Amen.


May we live by faith, walk in hope and be renewed in love, until the world reflects your glory and you are all in all. Even so, come, Lord Jesus. Amen.

(Book of Common Prayer, Church of Ireland, 2004)

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Almighty God, whose most dear Son went not up to joy but first he suffered pain, and entered not into glory before he was crucified: Mercifully grant that we, walking in the way of the cross, may find it none other than the way of life and peace; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

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