Ashes 2014

I have a small, round metal box with a Celtic cross on its hinged lid. 

I have not opened that box in several years. The last time it was opened was on an Ash Wednesday, the beginning of Lent. I lifted the lid of that box today and inside it I found exactly what I expected to find: ashes mixed with a bit of olive oil. Surprisingly, the consistency of the mixture remained as when I had last opened the box, placed some of the ash and olive oil mixture on my thumb, and marked the foreheads of the people in the congregation I pastored with a cross.

The ashes came from burning the palm branches the congregation had used to celebrate Palm Sunday the previous year. The olive oil came from a reservoir I used to anoint the heads of those seeking healing in one form or another.

Of course, not all of my parishioners would opt to receive the ashes on their heads. The older ones, being primarily of German ancestry and somehow carrying within their psyches memories of the Reformation and especially Thirty Years' War was fought between Protestants and Catholics in Germany between 1618 and 1648, considered going around with ashes on the foreheads “too Papist” for their militant Reformed faith.

I really blame the pastors these folks had as children for their prejudice and rejection of this ancient spiritual ceremony. I had such a pastor when I was in my late teens. Since he is still kicking around and still kicking Roman Catholics, I’ll not mention his name. However, I will tell this story:

During my freshman year in college, I visited a friend in southwest Indiana during Christmas break. On the return bus trip to Louisville, I sat near another young man and a Roman Catholic priest. The young

man had just discovered the writings of Thomas Merton, a Trappist monk of the Abbey of Our Lady of Gethsemani, which in located not far from Louisville. I was drawn into their conversation and the works of Merton.

When I returned to Louisville, I asked my pastor about Merton and his books. The pastor replied that I should not read them because Merton was “a damned Catholic.” I think God that I did not listen to his prejudicial claptrap. When I returned to the University of Kentucky I checked Merton autobiography, The Seven Story Mountain, out of the library and read it. Since then, I have read, and now own, every book that Merton wrote and several biographies about him.

Back to ashes. The traditional words said by the officiate when the ashes are placed on a Christian’s forehead are Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return or Turn away from your sins and believe the good news. The former reflects upon our human fragility and the temporary existence we have in the life; the latter that the season of Lent is not one of “giving up something,” but rather it is a time of reflection and change. I usually said the latter more often than the former.

In the Ash Wednesday service in the United Church of Christ Book of Worship, the imposition of ashes comes in the midst of the corporate Prayer of Confession. After all who wish to receive ashes have received them, the Prayers of Confession are concluded with the words:

PASTOR: Accomplish in us, O God, the work of your salvation,

PEOPLE: That we may show forth your glory.

PASTOR: By the cross and passion of our Savior,

PEOPLE: Bring us with all your saints to the joy of Christ’s resurrection.

The service concludes with the pastor announcing God’s grace and forgiveness, beginning with this sentence: Almighty God does not desire the death of sinners, but rather than they may turn from their wickedness and live.

For me, that’s what Lent and the ashes of Ash Wednesday are all about. The beginning of the Ash Wednesday corporate confession says it better than I can:

PASTOR: As disciples of Jesus Christ, we are called to struggle against everything that leads us away from the love of God and neighbor. Repentance, fasting, prayer, study, and works of love help us to return to that love. I invite you, therefore, to commit yourselves to love God and neighbor by confessing your sin and by asking God for strength to persevere in your Lenten discipline.

Today I have begun my own Lenten discipline of repentance, fasting, prayer, study, and works of love. I am giving up nothing for Lent. I am adding to my life, just as I have added the ashes to my forehead.

Christmas Eve Blessings

I created this video for Nick's Bytes' Christmas Eve post of 2008. It displays images that had appeared on my blog throughout the year. I can produce nothing better today. It is perhaps my favorite creation.

Christmas Eve Blessing

Sunday Song

Joe Wise’s wonderful song, Lord, Teach Us to Pray, is the one that I have probably placed in liturgies I've written and sung as a solo, accompanied by my guitar, more often in worship services during my years of ministry than any other. With my mobility rather restricted today, I took my guitar out of its case and began playing and singing. Suddenly I found myself so drawn to the message and music of Lord, Teach Us to Pray that I must have played and sung it a dozen times in a row.

Joe Wise lived in Louisville for about 55 years, most of the time not too far from where I now live. He is a folk singer of my generation, song writer, artist (painter) and one of the first Catholic writers and singers of “contemporary” Christian music. He has earned four degrees in Philosophy, Theology, Education, and Counseling and Guidance. About 12 or so years ago he relocated to Arizona, where he now lives. I urge you to visit Joe at his web site and learn more about this most remarkable man.

During those dozen or so times I played and sang Lord, Teach Us to Pray, I was recorded on cassette tapes several times. I actually didn't sound too bad! However, Joe Wise sounds much, much better than me. So I shall share the voice of Joe Wise singing his song:

I also want to share with you the message of this moving song, especially with those such as I once was, who have lost their way, standing and watching each other now from separate shores:

Lord, Teach Us to Pray

by

Joseph Wise

Refrain:

Lord, teach us to pray,

It's been a long and cold December kind of day,

with our hearts and hands all busy in our private little wars.

We stand and watch each other now from separate shores;

we lose the way.

I need to know today the way things should be in my head;

I need to know for once now the things that should be said.

I've got to learn to walk around as if I were not dead;

I've got to find a way to learn to live.

(Refrain)

I still get so distracted by the color of my skin;

I still get so upset now when I find that I don't win.

I meet so many strangers; I'm so slow to take them in

I've got to find a way to really live.

(Refrain)

I stand so safe and sterile as I watch someone fall flat;

I'm silent with a person who'd like to know just where I'm at.

With the aged and the lonely I can barely tip my hat;

I need to see the sin in "I don't care."

(Refrain)

I stand so smug and sure before the people I've out-guessed;

to let them all be who they are I still see as a test.

And when it all comes down to "must," I'm sure my way is best.

I've got to find what "room" means in my heart.

(Refrain)

I walk and fall, myself alone, can't tolerate a guide.

And when the camps split up I'm sure to put you on my side

and dare someone to challenge me and swear I will not hide.

I've got to find a better way to live.

(Refrain)

I mouth so many things, take so little time to weigh;

I've let it all slip by in the sweep of yesterday.

I can't believe you mean it all to grace me on my way;

I've got to find a way to really live.

Lord, teach us to pray.

We still believe that we can find a better way.

Teach us to pray.

We lose the way.

Teach us to pray.

You can listen to or download Joe singing more of his songs here.

Or, perhaps you would like to purchase Joe Wise's music:

Have a blessed Sunday, my friends.

He Is Risen!

Rejoice!

Christ is risen!
Live in Peace to Love and Serve God
Christ is with you always,
even to the end of the age!

Good Friday Memories

Good Friday is an important day in the Christian liturgical calendar, at least for mainstream Christianity. Unfortunately, many of the "new" versions of Christianity that have developed, especially in the United States, over the past two hundred years ignore Good Friday. Theologically, I could never understand that: how can one celebrate Easter without Good Friday? I'll save comments on that for a future post.

Two of the Good Friday services that I vividly remember were ones that I had a hand in planning. (Is my ego glowing?) The last was at a church I pastored, St. John's United Church of Christ in Cannelton, Indiana. It was a community service and we had a dozen "actors" to read a portion British author and Christian humanist Dorothy Sayer's radio drama, The Man Born to be King. If you have not heard The Man Born to be King performed or read the script, I urge you to do so.

The first of the two services was planned by a group of lay folk at Salem United Church of Christ about a dozen years before I went to seminary. We were asked to put together something "different." And I believe we did, combining dance, music, and congregational participation in a manner that I've not experienced (or been able to convince a congregation to experience) since.

The music consisted of two songs: The Lord of the Dance, and Phil Ochs' Crucifixion. A liturgical dance was performed by women and girls of the congregation to The Lord of the Dance, accompanied by a baritone singer and a flutist. After which, the congregation came forward, one by one, to drive a nail into a large wooden cross as Crucifixion was played. (It was Glen Yarborough's version, the orchestration of which I prefer to Phil Ochs original recording).

I wish I had a video or recording of that service, but it took place more than 40 years ago. However, I would like to share the music and lyrics of those two songs on this Good Friday:

Tommy Makem: The Lord of the Dance

The Lord of the Dance
(Words by Sydney Carter)

I danced in the morning when the world was begun
I danced in the Moon & the Stars & the Sun
I came down from Heaven & I danced on Earth
At Bethlehem I had my birth:

Dance then, wherever you may be
I am the Lord of the Dance, said He!
And I'll lead you all, wherever you may be
And I'll lead you all in the Dance, said He!
(...lead you all in the Dance, said He!)

I danced for the scribe & the pharisee
But they would not dance & they wouldn't follow me
I danced for fishermen, for James & John
They came with me & the Dance went on:

Dance then, wherever you may be
I am the Lord of the Dance, said He!
And I'll lead you all, wherever you may be
And I'll lead you all in the Dance, said He!
(...lead you all in the Dance, said He!)

I danced on the Sabbath & I cured the lame
The holy people said it was a shame!
They whipped & they stripped & they hung me high
And they left me there on a cross to die!

Dance then, wherever you may be
I am the Lord of the Dance, said He!
And I'll lead you all, wherever you may be
And I'll lead you all in the Dance, said He!
(...lead you all in the Dance, said He!)

I danced on a Friday when the sky turned black
It's hard to dance with the devil on your back
They buried my body & they thought I'd gone
But I am the Dance & I still go on!

Dance then, wherever you may be
I am the Lord of the Dance, said He!
And I'll lead you all, wherever you may be
And I'll lead you all in the Dance, said He!
(...lead you all in the Dance, said He!)

They cut me down and I leapt up high
I am the Life that'll never, never die!
I'll live in you if you'll live in Me -
I am the Lord of the Dance, said He!

Dance then, wherever you may be
I am the Lord of the Dance, said He!
And I'll lead you all, wherever you may be
And I'll lead you all in the Dance, said He!

 Glen Yarborough's version of Phil Ochs' Crucifixion

Crucifixion
(Words and Music by Phil Ochs)

And the night comes again to the circle studded sky
The stars settle slowly, in loneliness they lie
'Till the universe explodes as a falling star is raised
Planets are paralyzed, mountains are amazed
But they all glow brighter from the brilliance of the blaze
With the speed of insanity, then he dies.

In the green fields a turnin', a baby is born
His cries crease the wind and mingle with the morn
An assault upon the order, the changing of the guard
Chosen for a challenge that is hopelessly hard
And the only single sound is the sighing of the stars
But to the silence and distance they are sworn

Images of innocence charge him go on
But the decadence of destiny is looking for a pawn
To a nightmare of knowledge he opens up the gate
And a blinding revelation is laid upon his plate
That beneath the greatest love is a hurricane of hate
And God help the critic of the dawn.

So he stands on the sea and shouts to the shore,
But the louder that he screams the longer he's ignored
For the wine of oblivion is drunk to the dregs
And the merchants of the masses almost have to be begged
'Till the giant is aware, someone's pulling at his leg,
And someone is tapping at the door.

Then his message gathers meaning and it spreads accross the land
The rewarding of his pain is the following of the man
But ignorance is everywhere and people have their way
Success is an enemy to the losers of the day
In the shadows of the churches, who knows what they pray
For blood is the language of the band.

The Spanish bulls are beaten; the crowd is soon beguiled,
The matador is beautiful, a symphony of style
Excitement is ecstatic, passion places bets
Gracefully he bows to ovations that he gets
But the hands that are applauding are slippery with sweat
And saliva is falling from their smiles

So dance dance dance
Teach us to be true
Come dance dance dance
'Cause we love you

Then this overflow of life is crushed into a liar
The gentle soul is ripped apart and tossed into the fire.
First a smile of rejection at the nearness of the night
Truth becomes a tragedy limping from the light
All the heavens are horrified, they stagger from the sight
As the cross is trembling with desire.

They say they can't believe it, it's a sacrilegious shame
Now, who would want to hurt such a hero of the game?
But you know I predicted it; I knew he had to fall
How did it happen? I hope his suffering was small.
Tell me every detail, for I've got to know it all,
And do you have a picture of the pain?

Time takes her toll and the memory fades
but his glory is broken, in the magic that he made.
Reality is ruined; it's the freeing from the fear
The drama is distorted, to what they want to hear
Swimming in their sorrow, in the twisting of a tear
As they wait for the new thrill parade.

The eyes of the rebel have been branded by the blind
To the safety of sterility, the threat has been refined
The child was created to the slaughterhouse he's led
So good to be alive when the eulogy is read
The climax of emotion, the worship of the dead
And the cycle of sacrifice unwinds.

So dance dance dance
Teach us to be true
Come dance dance dance
'Cause we love you

And the night comes again to the circle studded sky
The stars settle slowly, in loneliness they lie
'Till the universe explodes as a falling star is raised
Planets are paralyzed, mountains are amazed
But they all glow brighter from the brilliance of the blaze
With the speed of insanity, then he died.

Jesus Christ Superstar 

(Millenium version) 

I Don't Know How to Love Him

Could we start again please? 

Crucifixion 

May you have a blessed Good Friday.

Christ of St John of the Cross 

(Dali 1951)

Palm Sunday 2013

A very large crowd spread their cloaks on the road, and others cut branches from the trees and spread them on the road. The crowds that went ahead of him and that followed were shouting,

‘Hosanna to the Son of David!   Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!Hosanna in the highest heaven!’ 

When he entered Jerusalem, the whole city was in turmoil, asking, ‘Who is this?’ The crowds were saying, ‘This is the prophet Jesus from Nazareth in Galilee.’      ~Matthew 21.8-11(NRSV)

Hosanna from Jesus Christ Superstar 

Blessings to you on this Holy Day!

Little Things

Little things
Like a toy
Can give you
Joy

Little things
Like a germ
Can make you
Squirm

~ written by Sometimes Saintly Nick when in the 4th grade

This past week I have again discovered, as I must have when a 4th grader, that little things generally come to our attention when they make more than a little impact on our lives. For example:

This month my pantry became emptier than it has been in a very long time. There was very little in it, so I was able to see little things I had not noticed


I really enjoy Farina hot cereal, but had not eaten any in years, until a couple of weeks ago when I noticed this box in the back of my almost empty pantry. I have now emptied the box.


If I had money, I would have order a pizza for delivery. With no money, I created this meal from NutriSytem stuff. It satisfied me, but I really would have preferred a real pizza.


Thankfully I obtained my flu shot on Wednesday. Just a little pick that I hardly noticed…until my injected arm be again to ache, along with my joints and my head.



Speaking of those little, microscopic viruses that cause the flu, Kentucky has experienced its 10th H1N1 fatality and more are expected. So I am over-joyed that President Obama has proclaimed the H1N1 pandemic a National Emergency.


It’s just a little wine and a little bread, but partaking of the Eucharist is infinitesimal joy. I am aware that private Communion is frowned upon by most Christian denominations; however, I am alone, not yet healthy enough to worship in community, and I so missed the joy that I officiated the service and consecrated the elements for myself.



Actually, I suppose I was not alone. I really don’t believe that the God I know and serve would object to Alex being on the “table.”



I received the above little postcard on Thursday and, as promised, my cable TV reception disappeared on Friday. So, I followed the 3-step instructions on the back of the postcard and, sure enough, the reception came back… for about 3 minutes.



Six times I have repeated the 3-step instructions on the back of that postcard and six times I have had the same results: reception for about 3 minutes, then just static…lots of noisy static. It appears I must make another telephone call.



The following isn’t a little thing, it very big and hugely important:

A Moment in Time

During my first four years as an ordained minister, I officiated at the funerals of three definite and one probable people who committed suicide.

Doing a funeral service for someone who has committed suicide isn’t easy. Christian funerals, at least those of mainline denominations, are set up to help with the grieving process and to offer hope to the mourners. That the one who had died had evidently given up all hope to the extreme sure undermines the good news and any sense of hope.

Let me tell you about one funeral. This funeral took place more than twenty years ago, so the details are not fresh in my mind. At least not all of them; some are so vivid that it is as if the funeral took place yesterday.

The deceased was a 29-year-old male, father of a pre-school daughter, separated from his wife. At the beginning of the separation, the wife and daughter of this man moved from southern Indiana to Indianapolis, which was at least a two hour drive away.

It was a Sunday night. The man had had a weekend visitation with his daughter and had returned her to the apartment of his estranged wife. While his wife was putting their daughter to bed, the father put a large caliber pistol in his mouth and pulled the trigger. That’s all of the details I remember of the suicide.

A couple of hours after his death, I received a telephone call from one of the man’s sisters. (He had, as I remember, eight siblings). She told me what had happened and asked if I would meet her at her parents home to break the news to her mom and dad. Of course, I agreed. The parents home was only a couple of blocks from the parsonage (a nice thing about very small towns), so I walked.

I won’t go into the details of telling the mother and father about their son’s suicide; just that his sister couldn’t say the words, so I did.

The funeral was almost as traumatic as was informing the parents. The formality and structure of mainline Christian funerals has been developed through the centuries to assist the grieving process. This includes the viewing of the body (or just the casket if it remains closed) by the family before any other mourners arrive; the length of the visitation (which varies depending on the circumstances); the service of closing the casket prior to moving it to the church (unless the viewing took place at the church or the funeral is held at the funeral home); the procession into and out of the church; the graveside service; and of course the funeral service itself.

What I remember most is the service of closing the casket prior to moving it to the church. The deceased was the youngest of the family’s children. He was, I was told, his mother’s favorite. After the formal words, prayers, and blessings, the family and friends of the deceased were to, if they desired, pass by the open casket and then depart for the church.

The mother and father were first to walk by. The mother, a very small woman, did not want to let go of her son. Literally. She reached into the coffin and began to lift his body up. I was standing at the head of the casket and quickly tried to dissuade her. She tightly held onto the body and continued to try to lift her son from the casket.

The problem (and my concern) was that the bullet that had taken this young man’s had blown away the back of his skull. I did not want the family to have the memory of seeing that. So as I held her, I called for her children to help; all gathered around the coffin and pulled their mother back from it. Then they held on to each other and cried. They cried for a very long time.

Somehow I ended up holding the deceased’s daughter in my arms. She held on tight and cried on my shoulder as I said soothing words and hummed a soft song for her. She fell asleep in my arms.



I believe that the suicide of a child, sibling, parents can be the most traumatic event in one’s life. That’s why I have actively supported and practiced suicide prevention through the years.

Since today is World Suicide Prevention Day (I thank Michelene for letting me know of this this morning), I thought I would share this story.





And now, as Paul Harvey says, here is the rest of the story.

About ten or so years later, a young teenage girl was visiting the church during worship. After the service, as folks were leaving and I was shaking hands and hugging them, the girl stood before me and said, “I am sure that you do not remember me, but years ago you held me in your arms at my daddy’s funeral. Thank you. I will always remember that moment.”

And I have never forgotten that moment.