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Good Friday is over. Christ is dead and buried. And today we are caught in the day of sorrow, the hope of the resurrection not yet realized.
Perhaps it is just the letdown after all of the effort & time put into the past week, but I am profoundly sad today.
After the service last night, I went with to Bryant-Lake Bowl with a group of people. Not much of one for bars, I went simply because I couldn't bear to come home to silence. But I would have much preferred to sit in a quiet room with one or two people, to talk quietly about something that actually matters, rather than shouting to be heard over the bar noise.
Last night & this morning I read Eli by Bill Myers. This story of a parallel universe in which the Messiah is born in Santa Monica in 1970 brought me to tears and made me long for the closeness with God which I used to feel. There's something powerful about reading a familiar story with just enough changed that it isn't familiar any more.
Jen and I were talking at lunch about last night's seder and came to the following conclusions:
That last one's the sticking point. After all, most of us came to the seder to learn about what it meant to Jesus and his disciples and therefore, what it means for us. So how does saying, "Well, and here they wash their hands, but we're going to skip that. And then here they remember the 10 plagues God sent to Egypt, but we're going to recite 10 sins, instead" help us understand the meaning?
I ended up leaving at 8:45, after the meal but before the second half of the service. Just too tired and totally not into it this year.
Passion week has seemed off-kilter this year, like I am being whirled through a series of dance steps not of my choosing. I want to stop, to take a breather, but the song won't end for a few more days and the chairs whish by in a blur.
The kids handed out palm branches on Sunday and people sang "Holy, holy, holy." It's a song I can usually throw myself into, but I just stood there thinking, "this feels wrong." Perhaps I sense my own betrayal of God, and it seems almost mocking for us to sing so jubilantly, when we will walk out the doors and live our lives the way we want. How many of the crowd 2000 years ago sang just as earnestly and whole-heartedly, only to turn on Jesus a few days later?
Last night I made Charoset for tonight's seder. One webpage I read described it as the sweetness of redemption after suffering. It's hard to make myself stop and remember why we're doing all of these activities leading up to Easter. Right now I am so tired and I just want to sleep. Maybe this rain & gloom echoes my feelings & the Easter story; on Sunday everything was sunny & beautiful, but now it is dark and cold and the world doesn't seem nearly as welcoming.
During my google searches yesterday, I found myself running into sites created by people I knew from Ship of Fools. I haven't been there in about a year. But I just can't help wondering whether these sites were a gentle prod, a sign that there is something at the Ship that I need to read or write or do. So I have returned, at least for a while.
Sometimes I miss that earlier period of my life.
... well, drains. Woo-hoo!
It's been slow for several weeks and several doses of nasty acid drain cleaner stuff didn't seem to make any difference. So last night I got the bucket and my wrench and pulled off the pipe. There was a nasty, sodden black mess of hair & gunk working its way through the pipe. I'm just glad I caught it when I did, as it was already heading into the part of the pipe in the wall. That would have been a huge hassle if I had to hire someone to rip into the wall.
The only problem is that, in the process of reattaching the pipe, it came unstuck from the bottom of the sink. So I need to find some caulk and seal it up again.
I also took the plastic off of most of the windows, so that I could let in the warm breeze. I love spring. I don't, however, love the window-sealing tape which ripped some of the finish from my windowsills. Such a productive evening.
For the second year in a row, Solomon's Porch is doing a Good Friday art event (The Way of the Cross) and I'm taking part. For some reason, I find these exercizes in directed-creativity to be much more productive, on a personal level, than waiting until "the spirit strikes."
So this year my station is "Peter denies Christ."
I have always identified with Peter --- his intense desire to follow & obey Jesus, yet his seeming inability to follow through on that desire. Heh. The story of my life. But rather than simply write a pretty little poem, I decided that I should delve into the story. So I read and re-read the related passages, to get it clear in my mind exactly what is supposed to have happened.
I then turned to sermons, to see what others had seen in the same story. And frankly, I was a bit shocked. Quite a few sermons portrayed Peter in a completely negative light, as an example of everything we should not be. There was an almost palpable sense of "being better than Peter," even though we have the benefit of 20-20 hindsight and a post-resurrection view of the faith.
Peter is described as a coward, for "following at a distance," rather than charging up and being right next to Jesus as he was taken by the guards. We are told that his is "worldly," for standing by the fire to get warm and that he has joined the enemy, because the guards are also around the fire.
And yet, the more I read about Peter (outside of the arrest passages), the more I realized that these accusations just don't seem to fit who I think Peter was.
After all, this was a brave man; he had lived through storms while fishing the Sea of Galilea, he had walked on water (at least briefly). And, most tellingly, he pulled his sword & attempted to keep the soldiers from taking Jesus at Gethsemane.
After living intimately with Peter for the past month, as I pondered these verses, I have come to have a very different view of these events. I believe that Peter recognized that Jesus was the Messiah, but he had the then-typical belief that the Messiah would establish an earthly kingdom & free the Jews from oppression. His denial of Christ came from a profound sense of disillusionment and anger, following the sudden realization that Jesus was not the man Peter thought he was. And thus, the following poem:
I left my home, my family -
for the promise of you.
Three years of talking and dreams
as the miles passed beneath our dusty feet.
Three years of teaching and miracles,
until one day I saw everything so clearly,
realized who you really were -
the long-awaited Messiah.
And why not?
What better time than now
for us to be freed from Roman oppression,
to see our king take his rightful place on Caesar's throne?
The one that generations of girls
had prayed to bear
was finally here.
Any my heart thrilled
and my blood ran hot
each time your words stumped the mockers,
silenced the Pharisees.So last night, when you said it was time
to leave us,
I grieved that our friendship would cool
when you took your throne.
But I vowed once again to follow you,
even though it cost my life.
In the garden dawn
when the guards arrived,
I thought at last the time had come
and drew my sword.But you said no.
And went without a fight.Following at a distance,
I lurk by the courtyard fire,
waiting to hear that you have revealed yourself.
Surely you are biding your time,
waiting until you are before the Sanhedren
to burst your bonds and show your power.But instead of your triumphant shout,
all I hear are the guards' snickers, coarse jesting.
You could stop the soldiers with one word,
but instead you endure blows and spit.Then out of the dark comes a voice, a light -
with a question,
this dirt-scruffed girl pulls me from my shadow of safety,
and I want to run and hide,
escape this horror of a night,
dart away like a rabbit to my hole.
Do I still doze in the garden?
Oh God, I pray - no beg -
that you would wake me,
let me open eyes, head on a rock,
to the sound of whispered prayers
and the rumbles of breakfast-ready stomachs.Did I hear you wrong?
Aren't you the Messiah,
come to save your people?
Or was I mistaken?
Was all your kingdom talk a lie?
Did I fall asleep at some meeting
where the joke was explained?Why don't you say something?
Why do you just stand there?
I've seen you banish demons,
heal blind eyes, multiply fish and bread.
Why are you silent?
Why are you so meek, so passive?
Who is this prisoner I see, instead of the messiah I followed?
Where is the man I knew?
I don't know who you are anymore.
I don't know you.I don't know you.
I'm slowly tweaking the page layout, but haven't had much time to work on it. Eventually things should look nice. :)