Station Fourteen, Jesus is laid in the tomb

At my mother's grave-side internment, there were about two hundred people present when a train suddenly passed by on the tracks which ran near the cemetery.  The priest paused for a moment as he waited for the rumbling  giant to pass by.  I wondered if anyone on the train knew who we were, why we were there, who was being buried, or, did they even notice that we were there.  How I wanted to be on that train.   We then retired to my Mom's home to begin the arduous task of clearing out a lifetime of memories. How cathartic to see her home empty and devoid of identifying belongings.   

Shortly after two hurricanes only a week apart struck our area, a woman called me at the suicide hotline.  Not only was her house destroyed, but her mom's graveside in the local cemetery was flooded and the area where her mom was interned had washed away.  The hurricane took this woman's present, future and past.  She was living in her mom's home which was paid for long ago, she didn't have a job, nor did she have insurance.  We discussed whether this was the end or a beginning.  I wasn't there to solve her problems, just to help her get through the moment.

I ascertained that she was a religious woman so we talked about the two Mary's who kept vigil at the tomb of Jesus and how they discovered the tomb empty three days later.   What could those women have been feeling at the thought of Jesus' body being stolen?  Later, when Jesus appeared to Mary, she didn't recognize him until he called her by name.  There is much power in calling someone by name.  At the suicide hotline, I always get the name of a caller, even if they want to give me  fake name.  I then make it a point to use a caller's name throughout all phone call.  It is often the difference between life and death, hope or despair, simply calling someone by name. 

I read in the paper this morning about a principal at an elementary school in Alabama who wrote a letter to the office of parole in support of a convicted felon's pardon.  It was unbelievable how many people were appalled at his action in an attempt at trying to help a man resurrect his life.  Due to the outcry and demands from a victims of crime group, like a blood thirsty crowd demanding the release of Barabbas, there were demands to the school board to remove the principal from his position.  No good deed goes unpunished.

Joseph of Arimathea risked his own life as he accepted Jesus’ body for burial.
 He laid his body there in a cave and rolled a large stone in front of it, then went home. What a sad day it has been for so many people. 

Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
by Mary Frye

    Do not stand at my grave and weep,
    I am not there; I do not sleep.
    I am a thousand winds that blow,
    I am the diamond glints on snow,
    I am the sun on ripened grain,
    I am the gentle autumn rain.
    When you awaken in the morning’s hush
    I am the swift uplifting rush
    Of quiet birds in circling flight.
    I am the soft starlight at night.
    Do not stand at my grave and cry,
    I am not there; I did not die.

Mary Frye, who was living in Baltimore at the time, wrote the poem in 1932. She had never written any poetry, but the plight of a young German Jewish woman, Margaret Schwarzkopf, who was staying with her and her husband, inspired the poem. Margaret Schwarzkopf had been concerned about her mother, who was ill in Germany, but she had been warned not to return home because of increasing anti-Semitic unrest. When her mother died, the heartbroken young woman told Frye that she never had the chance to “stand by my mother’s grave and shed a tear”. Frye found herself composing a piece of verse on a brown paper shopping bag. Later she said that the words “just came to her” and expressed what she felt about life and death.

Indeed, finding leads to losing, but losing lets you find.

O God, your blessed Son was laid in a tomb in a garden and rested on the Sabbath day: Grant that we who have been buried with him in the waters of baptism may find our perfect rest in his eternal and glorious kingdom; where he lives and reigns for ever and ever. Amen.

The Thirteenth Station, Jesus is taken down from the cross, by Joanne.

Jesus is placed in his mother’s arms.  A mother receives the body of a son.  Was it a senseless death, helpless, hopeless.  The grief is the same.  The wars continue.  Today, another Gulf war mother will receive her son’s body.  Helpless. 

My son has just finished his third tour in the Middle East.  I am so thankful that he will come home safely to my arms.  There are many mothers who will not be so lucky.  Their last visions of their sons and husbands will be in a morgue where the touch will be cold and the loss senseless. 

I knew an elderly woman who was dying of cancer.  When I visited her once, she said to me, if you come here and feel sorry for me, I don’t ever want you to come back.  Feeling sorry for someone is pity, not compassion.  Pity puts one in a stance of looking down upon the sick one.  Compassion (with - suffering) puts one side by side.  This elderly woman had found that the only healing possible in this world of medical miracles is the ability to accept one’s death even as one fights to hang on to life.  With this healing comes hope.  With this attitude comes compassion.  With this inner peace comes resurrection.  When this woman died, I was there holding on to her hand.  At her funeral, I was there holding her as a pall bearer of life. 

In the Pieta, Mary holds her Son on her lap as though he were again a boy she would comfort after a fall.  This gives me the inspiration to comfort the mourning, to minister to bereaved families, to keep vigil with those made homeless, orphaned or widowed, disabled or powerless by their experience of war.   Unlike many other mother's I will get to hold my living son.

Jesus, how brutally you were put to death. How gently you are taken from the cross. Your suffering and pain are ended, and you are put in the lap of your mother. The dirt and blood are wiped away. You are treated with love.

Sometimes we seem to be kinder when someone dies. If only we could learn to see the good things about them while they were alive. If only we would tell those around us how much we love them, while we still have the opportunity to do so.

Help us look for the good in those around us, especially those we love the most. Help us live each day as if it were the last. Help us become more gentle and loving people through our greater appreciation for those around us.  Amen.

The Twelfth Station, Jesus Dies On The Cross

It is finished.  Death by violence.  It wasn't the first time and won't be the last.  Across the country each day, people are shot, stabbed, starved, frozen, they die in auto accidents, they die from disease and, for many, no one cares.  Jesus said "I am thirsty."  and everyday there are many who thirst for the uncommon wine of compassion and relief from suffering.

I know a Deacon who used to serve the Roman Catholic church. When his son, the church organist, contracted HIV and developed AIDS, he and his wife were ashamed and told no one.  Eventually their son died and everyone in the parish found out as word spread faster than the Good News being shouted from the roof tops.  The deacon and his family felt no compassion or support from their parish nor their priest.  People didn't even want to receive Holy Communion from the Deacon because in those days, people were ignorant about how HIV was transferred.  The Deacon left the Roman church and for the longest time he didn't attend anywhere.

He and his wife are no longer ashamed of their gay son, nor of AIDS, nor that he died, nor for the secret they kept for so long.  Now they are very proud because the death of their son has empowered them to do volunteer work helping men to get tested regularly and promoting safe sex.  Out of their son's death has come much life, love, support and compassion for others.  They have refused to allow differences to destroy life but to save lives.

Father in heaven above, as Jesus hung on the cross, he forgave the soldiers who had crucified him, and prayed for his mother and friends. Jesus wanted all of us to be able to live forever with God, so he gave all he had for us.  May our lives drink in the wine of your compassion for, in the cup of suffering are mingled all our tears and fears.  Help us to pass this cup around.  Amen.

Station Eleven, Jesus is nailed to the Cross

The soldiers take big nails and drive them into Jesus' wrists and feet.  He has done nothing but good, yet they crucify him.  The soldiers have their counterparts today.  Some countries torture, brainwash, water-board, beat, electrically shock and humiliate their political prisoners and seldom do the people protest too strongly.   Instead, many people turn to Facebook where they can spew venom, invectives and callous hate with seeming impunity.  Torture doesn't have to be as deliberate as driving nails into someone's flesh.  It could be an ill chosen word, a thoughtless action, a comment on a Facebook page, or, sometimes not to act is to act. 

Sometimes we discriminate against others. Even without thinking, we judge others because of their color, intelligence, income level or name. We forget that we are to live as a brother or sister to all people. Sometimes we use harsh words when we speak to our children and family members. We can find it easy to look for something that isn’t very important and make it very important.

An organist for a local Roman Catholic church was living with a secret:  He was gay.  He was a dynamic musician and brought much life to the church liturgies and was an instrument for growth in the parish.  When he contracted AIDS and became too ill to continue serving his parish, he quit, word spread quickly and the church was scandalized.  The priest said "If I knew he was gay, I never would have hired him."   There was no forgiveness or compassion.  His father was even the deacon for the parish.

Sister Karen Klimczak of Buffalo ran a halfway house for ex prisoners.  She took in a new resident who was struggling with drug addiction.  His name was Craig Lynch.  It was Good Friday, 2007 and when Lynch saw Sister Karen's cell phone on a table,he strangled her and took her phone to sell for drug money.  Sixteen years earlier Sister Karen predicted her murder and wrote a letter forgiving the person who would one day take her life.  The letter was found in her belongings after her death and read in court at Lynch's sentencing:

“Dear Brother, I don’t know what the circumstances are that will lead you to hurt me or destroy my physical body.  No, I don’t want it to happen.  I would much rather enjoy the beauties of this earth, experience the laughter, the fears and the tears of those I love so deeply!  Now my life has changed and you, my brother, were the instrument of that change.  I forgive you for what you have done and I will always watch over you, help you in whatever way I can. . . . Continue living always mindful of His Presence, His Love and His Joy as sources of life itself — then my life will have been worth being changed through you.” 

Deputy District Attorney Frank A. Sedita stood up afterward and said, “There’s been talk of forgiveness, but, Judge, forgiveness is for God. Sentencing is for court.”  Lynch received the maximum of 25 years to life.  At that, the other nuns and co-workers of Sister Karen stood up and hugged the family of Lynch. 

Forgiveness can be hard, but, forgiveness is also very easy; Living with hate is very hard.  It is an endless downward spiral with the gravitational pull of a black hole but, it is surprisingly very simple to step out of.  Just like the cross - a symbol of death can be a symbol of life, compassion and forgiveness.  But, only to those with eyes to see. 

Almighty Father, help us look again at the people around us. Help us see the hurt and pain in others. Help us make amends for the harm we have done.Clothe us in your Spirit that we, reaching forth our hands in love, may bring those who do not know you to the knowledge and love of you; for the honor of your name.  Amen.

Seek Ye First

I sketched out this little improvisation with the intention to transcribe it but got lazy half way through the first verse.

The Tenth Station of the Cross; Jesus is stripped of his garments, by Maggie

His clothes are stripped away and he is left naked before the crowed.  Stripped of the little that is his.  Stripped of dignity.   Forced to feel shame.  Humiliated. 

I had a normal and happy childhood, I thought.  I didn’t know I was different until other kids told me.  I was adopted by an American couple.  They came to Korea and chose me out of a nursery of a dozen other children.  Children can be merciless and hurtful.  They made fun of my slanted eyes and made up names about me and my heritage.  I felt my dignity was being taken away from me through emotional assault and humiliation.   I am able to forgive the mindless abusers who reduced and denied my humanity.   They didn’t really know what they were doing, they didn’t know the scars they were creating inside me that would last a lifetime.   They did however teach me to have a profound respect for those who are different.  Jesus didn’t allow evil to strip him of his dignity on the cross.  He has taught me to honor this humble house of flesh in which God is at home and we are garbed in spirit-strength and dignity. 

God, help us to keep ourselves pure and clean. Help us say things that build up the people around us. Help us overcome worldly desires that we may become more like Jesus. Help us set a good example for others to follow.  Amen.

The Ninth Station; Jesus falls the Third Time, by Mary.

At one time, I had everything and my life was filled with happiness and promise.  Then, one day I was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis.  I fell the first time.  Eight months later my husband left me because he was afraid that in time he would have to take care of me as my condition worsened.  I fell the second time.   Later that year a mugger outside the hospital slashed my palm with a knife, I had to have surgery and it took a long time to heal.  I fell the third time.  I even fell a fourth time when I became addicted and dependent upon pain killers.  During this time however, I discovered a purposeful religious life.  I found out that I could help other people and that by sharing my story, I could inspire others.  Wrestling with my grief, pain and anger, I found my destiny.  The old saying goes three strikes and you’re out but not for Jesus.  He got up and kept going.   I too had to keep going.  I discovered that life is to live intensely.  It doesn’t matter how many times you fail or fall, or even how many lives you touch.  No matter how many times you fall, courage is found in getting up again.  The road of life may be long and hard and strewn with pain and suffering, but the destination and destiny is in living life to the fullest.    I thank God that I have the strength to keep getting up and going on because with every turn in life I discover beauty and something worth living for, especially when I discover it is in living for others that I discover that life is worth living. 

Thanks to our beautiful prison ministry here at our loving church, I can forgive the mugger, I can forgive my husband, I can even forgive myself for blaming God for the MS.  They were all blood stained gifts to the discovery of love, compassion, mercy and forgiveness.  They have made me a better person and in turn, helped me to make other people, better people.

O God by the passion of your blessed Son you made an instrument of shameful death to be for us the means of life: Grant us so to glory in the cross of Christ, that we may gladly suffer shame and loss for the sake of your Son our Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.

The Eighth Station; Jesus Meets the Women, by Christine

Forgetting his own pain, Jesus consoles the woman who are weeping for him.  If we reflect on the millions who are facing death from hunger, those imprisoned, those living under bridges, the jobless, we too may feel like crying, but tears do not produce comfort or bread.

When the institutional church fails to practice the justice it so movingly proclaims to the world, we are diminished as Christians.  How many tears must a woman shed for her sons?  How many tears are being shed today by mothers for their children; by sisters for their brothers; by daughters for their fathers?  The tears of women around the world water the earth every day.   As I got off the bus which took me to visit a loved one in prison, the women gathered in the waiting room with tears, fear, anger, and eagerness.  Some of them shared their stories and some of them brought their children.  Their tears were real and so was their faith. 

I volunteer for the wonderful prison ministry here at our church and it was the week of Thanksgiving.  I was hired to play the guitar for a special Thanksgiving Mass to be held that week in a local jail.  The local Bishop and priests were invited to say Mass for the inmate population.  Over fifty priests showed up and the press was there to take pictures of the church living its ministry to the poor, oppressed and imprisoned.  The tiny chapel could only hold about sixty people.  Only ten inmates were invited to attend this Mass.  If there were not so many priests present for this ministerial photo-op, there would have been room for more inmates to attend.   I can only imagine, if Jesus were there, as in the temple, he would have stormed in and knocked over the tables and maybe even punched a few priests in the noses.   Jesus wasn’t angry over money changing hands that day as much as he was angry that the vendors displaced the poorest of the poor from being able to enter the temple to pray.   

Like Jesus himself, the women and children and the inmates are like grain to be ground by the millstone of injustice.  The powers and principalities will one day be vanquished, but in the interim, there is solace in mutual love and steadfast resistance.     

Jesus, as you carry your cross you see a group of women along the road. As you pass by you see they are sad. You stop to spend a moment with them, to offer them some encouragement. Although you are have been abandoned by your friends and are in pain, you stop and try to help them.  Sometimes we act like children. We become so absorbed in ourselves and in what we’d like that we forget about the needs of others. We take them for granted, and often ignore their needs. Help us to think more about others. Help us to remember that others have problems, too. Help us respond to them even when we’re busy or preoccupied with our own problems.

Look up.

You may not see them in the sky just yet, but drones are on their way. And without legislation regulating their use, local police departments won't need a warrant to secretly track you or your family 24 hours a day.

Thankfully, legislators in Virginia aren’t waiting around to witness the abuse of power that using drones this way creates. They passed a bill in February that halts their use for two years, while privacy protection can be properly addressed.

But bigwigs in the drone industry, afraid of losing business, launched a smear campaign against the bill this week, putting it in severe jeopardy. Governor Bob McDonnell could kill the bill or sign it into law at any moment, so we have to act fast to push back against the corporate lobbyists.

This bill could be the first domino to fall on drones in the U.S., for bad or good. If we win in Virginia, states across the country can follow suit to stem the tide of unregulated drones. But if the drone industry wins, the warrantless use of drones could spread across the country. Act now to keep profits from trumping privacy.

Help pass the first law in the nation to say "no" to drones. Sign the petition telling Virginia’s governor to support the moratorium on drones.

The use of unmanned aircraft to spy on Americans is a growing national problem. Drones are already cheap and readily available on the market, and now the federal government is calling on the Federal Aviation Administration to open domestic airspace to drones by 2015.

In the past, Governor Bob McDonnell embraced Department of Homeland Security funds for drones with open arms. But mounting pressure from his own party against drones, his national aspirations, and the potential for a huge media moment could mean that the governor is ready to change his stance.  Let him know now that  he has the opportunity to make Virginia an important national example of protecting Americans from abuse of government power.

Drones may be useful surveillance tools for law enforcement, but they pose a newly grave threat to our privacy and could usher in an era of constant monitoring of our movements when we leave our homes. And contrary to the claims of drone manufacturers, the Virginia bill accounts for public safety and emergency preparedness while simply calling for reasonable regulation in use of this new technology by law enforcement.

With federal bipartisan legislation about drones being introduced this month on Capitol Hill and over 30 state bills about drones pending around the country, victory in Virginia would set the national stage to prevent a scary surveillance society in the present and demand the same for the future.

Go to this site to quickly sign a letter from the ACLU to Governor McDonnell:

https://www.aclu.org/secure/tell-gov-mcdonnell-sign-drones-bill

Building Membership

A few weeks ago I began a litany of seven observations as to why people don't go to church.  The first reason had to do with how we do our best to keep people out of our little social clubs.  The face of Christ is revealed in every person that we meet but I suspect that even He, given his politics and the people he hung out with would not be welcome in some of our houses of worship.  Here I will discuss a very simple solution.

How many hours per week did Jesus spend in the office? He didn't. He went out to where the people were. That is what we and our clergy need to do. I knew a Presbyterian pastor who spent five days a week from 9 to 5 sequestered away in his office.  Most of his time was spent on homily preparation (which were quite boring).  His church is now closed.  In five years time, he brought no one into the church.

I also knew a priest who would prepare his homily on Saturday around three o'clock – one hour before the four o'clock mass.  His homilies were always magnificent and not because he was exceptionally good at extemporization, or that he quickly perused canned homilies for ideas, but because of how he spent his week; He was rarely in his office.  Instead, he was in everyone else's office. When not in the rectory he was out visiting people. He attended every single event that was held at the church. If he couldn't attend some gathering or meeting he would at least show up when it was over and always provided an opportunity to make himself available to the people. He knew everything going on in everyone's life and when he preached on the weekend, he always incorporated stories of the people in the parish and how the life of the parish sinuously intersected with the Gospel teachings. His every waking moment was preparation for his homily and his homily was always a charge to to everyone to walk the Gospel walk.  It was all quite simple.  His church went from three Masses per week to five in a fifteen year span.  Two of them were standing room only.

Have you ever noticed how people love to talk about something which they are passionate about? Sports, movies, music, a trip, politics, their job, family? People love to talk about what they love.  The priest in the aforementioned story loved people.

I once attended a music convention for the National Association of Pastoral Musicians and I left re-energized and newly inspired to do my job. I came home from the week long convention and told everyone about it and invited them to join me next year. The following year, no one joined me and that was okay but when I came back, all I could do was to reiterate how magnificent the experience was.  The following year one of my choir members joined me and when she returned all she did was rave about how magnificent the convention was and how inspired she became.  Indeed she was a changed person and became more active in the church.  Not only in music but in other ministries as well. The following year three more choir members joined us and the next year four more people joined us and they were not even in the choir.  Not only were we reaching out to people but so were my choir members as they began talking about the convention to music directors and choir members from other churches.  One year we had about 35 people go to the convention.  Energy begets energy.

One of the conundrums that churches have is that they like to talk about their problems and issues. When Jesus stepped out of the boat and walked on water, he invited Peter to join him but Peter was skeptical.  When he saw the storm and the high waves, he had doubts and indeed he failed. That is what our churches do, too.  They look at the storm and they talk about their failure.  We need to feel as big as the sky because it is just a storm. Have you ever seen a storm on the ocean from a distance?   It is just a storm.  I’ve never seen a saddle fall off a horse so the church needs to learn to become one with the saddle.  To not be afraid of the storm, the horse or the saddle.  Ultimately, to be one with the Gospels.

So, some of us come up with new ideas and gimmicks in a churlish attempt to attract people to our churches and often times they fail. If not immediately, eventually. One of the reasons is our methods of PR. Putting an announcement in the church bulletin only reaches the people who come to church and who read the bulletin.   Many people are also not interested in our movie night because they have Netflix.  Others are not interested in our educational programs because either they are too busy or we fail to inspire them to apply what they learn from those programs.   Algebra and geometry are perfect examples.  If you teach only the formula, it is difficult to understand.  But, if you teach real world application, they become valuable tools.  Just ask any construction worker or home owner who likes to fixit themselves. 

There is a church who about 25 years ago had a women's club who made it their mission to spend the year talking about their church to people in the community seven days a week. It could be a passing comment or an invitation, but they would talk about the church, the people, about the activities, the coffee hour, what they did as far as ministries and they wouldn't be preachy about it, either. The church saw significant growth over a period of five years all because of simple physics: Energy begets energy. As people joined, they too, from example, talked about the church to other people, made invitations and even more people joined. Soon the church was filled with life and many active groups. Then they stopped their outreach and enjoyed the fruits of their labor. The children of that growth spurt are now grown up and gone, those new members are now elderly and the church is now struggling, not seeing any new growth.

It is not enough talk to our friends and family members. We already know them and they probably already go to church if not the same one.  We need to reach out to the stranger and the lepers among us. I never understood fear and prejudice, that's not how I was raised but our parole shelters, AA meetings and food pantries are bursting at the seams with people who don't go to church but may partake in its largess.  I know a wealthy church who sponsors a weekly soup kitchen and they serve about 200 people each week.  Strangely, none of those 200 attend that church.

Jesus sat with ordinary people. He even sat down with even the disreputable.  Public opinion was never a problem with Jesus. He was a genuine human person, a real brother to the poor, the weak, the sick, the alienated. He was not a benefactor, or a patron, or a philanthropist - but a brother. 

In this lies the greatness of Jesus. To have real power and influence one does not control or manipulate. One serves and builds and loves.   Some people may come for the movie night or the free food, but what will make them come back is the listening ear and the welcoming embrace.

Immanuel, a name which means "God is with us."  It does not mean that God solves our problems, shows us the way out of our confusion, or offers answers for our many questions.  It means he is with us, willing to enter with us into our problems, confusions, and questions.  

I used to answer a suicide hotline and the first skill we were trained in was listening, being quiet and being present.  My greatest successes and breakthroughs were when I said nothing.  Henri Nouwen wrote, “The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing... not healing, not curing... that is a friend who cares.”
  
We, do not aspire to suffer with others.  On the contrary, we develop methods and techniques that allow us to stay away from pain.  Hospitals, nursing homes, rest homes, funeral homes, they all often become places to hide the sick, the suffering, and the dead.   Suffering is unattractive, repelling and disgusting.  The less we are confronted with it, the better.  It is something we want to avoid at all cost.  Among some people, compassion is not among our most natural responses.

But, in times of trial, if someone were to say to us, "I do not know what to say or what to do, but I want you to realize that I am with you, that I will not leave you alone," we have a friend through whom we can find consolation and comfort.

 
What really counts, is that in the moments of pain and suffering, someone stays with us.  More important than any particular action, or word of advice, is the simple presence of someone who cares.  They show solidarity with us by willingly entering the dark spaces
of our lives.  For this reason, they, like God, are the ones who bring hope and help us discover new directions.  From the Beatitudes, Jesus says, "Blessed are those who mourn."  Not because mourning is good, but because they shall be comforted.
  Do our churches comfort or have really good card parties and pot lucks? 

Courage is not the absence of fear.  Courage is dong what we need to do or is the right thing to do.  Even in the presence of fear.  Many people are afraid of bees because bees can sting and it hurts. Some people will even kill a bee on sight not realizing or, with little concern, that these industrious little insects are responsible for most of the fruit and vegetables which we consume on a daily basis. Something we hate and fear so much is also extremely valuable to us. Some of the people we hate and fear are strangers and lepers and, just like bees, they can bring value to our churches but first we need to go to where they are because they certainly won't come to us.  They have a perception that the church is full of hypocrites.  Hate begets hate and the people who bash the church the most are the people whom the church has had a history of turning away.  It is simple social physics.  hate begets hate.  Energy begets energy.

My sister was a Jehovah's Witness and instead of going door to door, she spent every day at the parole shelter assisting the men with transportation, support and navigating the DSS.  She brought over 50 men into her church. Some of them got jobs and some additionally got married in the church.  Many of them brought skills of construction, plumbing and electrical experience and volunteered their services to the church and its membership in appreciation for the kindness, grace and mercy it offered.  Energy begets energy.

I recently attended a one-day retreat where there was a panel of five clergy who talked about why they chose the church as their career.  A lot of the priests talked about their passion for Jesus.  One priest had an inner city church and talked of her (Episcopal) passion for the people.  At the end of the retreat, the panelists fielded questions from the assembled.   A question was asked "Is it possible to turn Jesus into a 'Golden Idol?'"  The woman priest said "Absolutely. It is easy to worship the messenger but fail to hear his message.  Just look no further than the Crusades where we killed people in Jesus' name."   The only priest who passed on answering that question was one from an affluent parish who had admitted to have been attracted to the church because of his love for liturgy, pageantry, candles, mystery, couture finery, documents and education.  He never once mentioned people in any of his answers.

It was also interesting to note that none of the clergy had a eureka moment or were struck by lightning when they fell in love with church/Jesus/ministry.  They all said it was a gradual process. One salient life moment they all had in common was that  there was one person in each of their lives who first made an invitation.

I know, strangers can be scary to approach but some of the greatest saints were murderers first. The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good people to do nothing. Imagine what could happen if all people did something. Jesus said in the book of Revelations that if a church is neither hot nor cold, but lukewarm, it is like spit in his mouth and he will spew it out.  I suspect that many churches today are lukewarm.

We turn to God when our foundations are shaking only to learn that it is God who is shaking them.  If the foundation of our churches are shaking we can let the walls crumble around us or we can go out into the world to get help. So with that in mind, do as St. Vincent de Paul suggests, "If a needy person requires medicine or other help during your prayer time, do whatever has to be done with peace of mind.  Offer that deed to God as your prayer.  Do not become upset or feel guilty because you use your prayer time to serve the poor.  God is not neglected if you leave him for real service.  You should prefer the service of the poor to making your prayer. For, it is not enough to love God, if, your neighbor does not also love  God."

-Malcolm Kogut.

The Seventh Station; Jesus falls the second time

Jesus is so tired that he falls again under the weight of the cross.  He is bruised and bleeding and the soldiers whip him to hurry him along.

If we are afraid of falling, we will never walk again.  If our focus is on not falling, we will miss the thrill of living.   An infant learning to walk will fall but get back up to try again.  Each time, they will get stronger and better for their failure.  How many times have we heard from a convicted felon that his going to prison was the best thing that ever happened to them?  Either because they discovered strength and perseverance that they did not know they had, a deep font of compassion for the least of these or, it saved their life from a downward spiral of crime and destructive behavior.  Falling and failure often makes us stronger.

Remember the great circus act, “The Flying Walendas”?  It was a family of performers who glided through the air with the greatest of ease.  They dared the forces of gravity by walking on wires stretched high across canyons and chasms of every sort.  In 1978, Karl Walenda, the founder of the troupe died when he fell trying to walk a wire between two ten-story buildings in Puerto Rico.   Later, Karl's wife told a newspaper “All Karl thought about for three months prior to his death was falling.  It seemed to me that he put all his energies into NOT falling rather than WALKING that tightrope.” 

Where do we put our energies?  On our fear of falling or our faith in walking?   Falling is the easy part, it is getting up that is the hard part.  When we fall, we can get up and walk again.  When we fail in sin, we can be forgiven again.   When a loved one dies, we can live again.  Jesus fell in love for us, for whom will we fall?

The Sixth Station: Veronica wipes the face of Jesus

Without any fear of public opinion, Veronica rushes out from the crowd and presses her veil to the bleeding, sweaty and filthy face of Jesus. She can’t do much, but she offers what little help she can.  What will people think of her as she breaks rank to tend to this lawbreaker, to someone living on the fringe of society, to this convicted felon? She rejected the standards of society because she saw dignity in the face of this condemned man for whom she did not know.

What would we do for a loved one?  Would we run into a burning building? Would we dive into turgid flood waters? Would we ignore hospital visitation rules? Would we fly across the country at a moments notice? Would we stand between them and a vicious animal? Would we break the ranks of a barricade as Veronica did? We would do anything for someone we love, just as Veronica did for Jesus?

Sometimes we fail to notice the needs around us. Sometimes our own family members crave our attention, and we don’t even seem to notice. Sometimes a co-worker, friend, or family member could use help or understanding, but we don’t reach out to help lest we be criticized, or fear that they'll demand more of us than we’d like to give.

When my mother was dying from emphysema I took two months off to take care of her.  During the final two weeks of her life she was in a morphine induced sleep. I never left her side. I propped her pillows, rolled her over, gave her sponge baths, brushed her hair, I sang and read to her. I even slept on the floor beside her bed each night. It was both the most difficult and beautiful event of my life and I would do it all over again.

The name "Veronica" comes from two Latin words, "true" and "image." After Veronica wiped the face of Jesus, her veil was in imprinted with an image of Jesus' face.  I have photographs and memories of my mother imprinted in my mind and heart so that I can remember her.  I am now more inclined to be patient, forgiving and understanding to strangers because of the gift of love I experienced while caring for my mother.  May we see the face of Christ on every person we meet, to love and serve them all the days of our lives.

O God, help us see the needs of others as being as important as our own needs. Remind us to go out of our way to be helpful, even if we’re not asked. Help us to not be concerned about what others may think of us as we take the road less traveled, through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

Finding leads to losing
losing let's you find
living leads to dying
but life leaves death behind
-Ken  Medema.

The Fifth Station; Simon helps Jesus Carry the Cross, by Mark.

There he was minding his own business as part of a large crowd when the soldiers grabbed Simon and forced him to help the struggling Jesus. Whether Simon was reluctant to help or not isn't important.  After all who wants to worry about other people's problems.  We have enough of our own. But there is much we can do to help people who are stumbling under the weight of their own crosses even when it would be easier to look the other way. 

Every day, hundreds of people die of neglect, violence, abuse, hunger and even lack of clean water. When we feed or shelter another person we are doing the same for Christ. When we lift unjust burdens from another person or defend them against prejudice and exploitation, we are lifting the same burdens from Christ's shoulders. When we change unjust systems, racism, sexism, unfair wages, unfair trade and alienation, we alleviate the suffering of one million Christ's. When we take a step out of the crowd we stand in the spotlight of someone else's suffering, we make a difference in another person's story.  

In Marty Haugen's song, "We Remember," verse four starts: "See the face of Christ revealed in every person standing by your side;" and verse one begins, "Here, a million wounded souls are yearning just to touch you and be healed."  Sharing in another person's passion (suffering) holds the promise of transformation in our own lives. This single step, this initial attempt to help carry another person's cross is a ladder to the very heart of God.

Heavenly Father, whose blessed Son came not to be served but to serve: Bless all who, following in his steps, give themselves to the service of others: that with wisdom, patience and courage, they may minister in His name to the suffering, the friendless and the needy. Help us notice the needs of those around us. Help us do more than just stand there and watch. Help us see the needs of others as opportunities for us to reach out and help as you did. 

The Fourth Station; Jesus meets his Mother, by Sharon

Mary watches her son being dragged toward certain death.  She is helpless to save him.

As a nurse, I find it difficult to watch people come in to the ER and with all my training and experience I find myself helpless to do anything to save  them.  The most difficult scene which I see replayed over and over in the ER is when a child or infant come in and there is nothing their mother’s can do to save them.   I have seen children with tumors on the brain, mangled limbs from automobile accidents, teens overdosed on drugs, and babies with genetic blood disorders.   Pre-planning the funeral for a baby is not the way it is supposed to be.

What was Mary thinking when she saw her son’s battered and bruised body.  When their eyes met and they saw each other through the blood, the sweat, and the tears.   As heart wrenching as this scene is time and again, I am often touched by the scene of mother and child's eyes meeting, if just for a moment, there is a deep affection held in that sacred stare.

I pray that I always have the courage not to look away but to look toward the light and hold in our hearts the look of love.

Jesus, you feel so alone with all those people yelling and screaming at you. You don’t like the words they are saying about you, and you look for a friendly face in the crowd. You see your mother. She can’t make the hurting stop, but it helps to see that she is on your side, that she is suffering with you. She does understand and care.  Amen.

Ma Doge, Brandy

Doin' what she does.  Shepherd/Collie Mix. 

Great Flats Nature Trail

Rotterdam Flats, Schenectady, NY

Lake Tear In The Clouds, A Poem

Exodus 17:6
Behold, I will stand before you there on the rock at Horeb, and you shall strike the rock, and water shall come out of it, and the people will drink.” And Moses did so, in the sight of the elders of Israel.

Anybody who hikes, especially in the Adirondack State Park of upstate NY, can attest to the fact that water indeed can flow from rocks.  It is very common up in the High Peaks. 

Water seeping out of rock formed a lake called "Lake Tear In The Clouds," which has been traced to be the birthplace of the mighty Hudson River ("Co-ha-ta-te-a," - River from Beyond the Peaks, as interpreted by the Mohawk Tribe).  The lake rests just below the summit of Mount Marcy (Tahawas: Cloud Splitter) at 4,293 feet.  Its primary outflow is Feldspar Brook which then becomes Opalescent Stream.  This is the site where where Teddy Roosevelt learned that McKinley had been shot.  From the lake, it is about a ten hour hike to get back down to the town of Newcomb where Roosevelt then took a stage to Buffalo to be sworn in as President.

Birthplace of the Hudson

A mossy cushion on the mountain
dripping in wetness, mountain blood
exists the birthplace of a fountain
from deep dark springs destined to run

Like glossy birds o’er rocks they ripple
gift of mountain purity
traversing over feldspar pebbles
universal unity

The trickle pauses for a rest
where often mist enshrouds
beneath Mount Marcy’s edifice
lies Lake Tear in the Clouds

The lake at times had fallen away
by summer drought and noontime sun
the painted trunks and bank display
what springtime thaw had long since done

Nature takes her liberty
this little place, to occupy
unseen to human apathy
a dotted fleet of water flies

The outlet played its melodies
like tingling nerves it ran downhill
flowed in braided songful peace
shaping at its wild will

And fainting not to thirsty suns
the throbbing water darts with ease
to preordained symposium
to kneel at the foot of its emperor the sea

On its journey purely chastened
falling on, its swiftness doubles
plunging numerous black basins
glittering bright with silver bubbles

This gentle stream now mighty brook
leaps in white astonishment
interposing streams partook
a streaking shower opalescent

In fierce heedless chafing water
driftwood striped of bark and branch
terrific cataracts of slaughter
plunge in rabid avalanche

A crag, a perfect net that strangles
prostrate trees now lying entombed
the foaming steeps and channeled angles
catapults Opalescent Flume

-Malcolm Kogut.