loving to death

My holy week began in a simple rural church in Iowa. With crowds of farming families I chanted “crucify him, crucify him.”  My voice shook with shame.  It’s not pretend, it’s prayer.  Tears welled up within.  Why did the Church design it that I have to be the one who sentences my love to death?

Stone-cold statues of the stations of the cross lined the peaceful church.  In each, I see a face of Jesus etched with history and sorrow.  Jesus leans over an angel and looks at me in the pew, praying with questions.  Suffering is redemptive, I’ve learned.  Emotions stew within as I think of my love beaten, bruised, bloody, broken.

I sang “Hosanna” and held crisp, spring green branches but knew where the story was going next.  I knew about the cross, the death and the resurrection.  Except for the cooing children, I think we all did. Yet, we’re intense.  It’s ugly to face it: Love nailed to death.

As I gaze upon the cross this week, I shall consider all the hurt that I know.  I have been hurt and I have hurt others, at times I have even hurt myself.  The hurt of all humanity and creation stares back at me from the wood of the cross.

It’s personal and universal.  Personally, I have turned away from my love every time; I’ve allowed my good intentions to get clouded by pride, selfishness and lies.  Together, our social sins continually crush earth and community onto bloody boards.  The body of Christ is wounded.  We are that body.

Our eyes sting with the truth that love hurts.  I ache and I remember that the journey of the cross is the story that we live everyday. These are the moments of our community.  It’s not tidy at all, nor crisp with clarity.

The dust stirs on the statues. Chipped memories acknowledge that redemption began with the incarnation. He came to love, live, set free and therefore die. It’s because His love was so bold and non-violent that he was killed.  I am stuck in the story.

Hurt throbs through the questions.  Do I really understand?  Am I willing to die for what he lived?  Can I? Am I?

set down the stones

I do not advise that young children watch this video.  The facts are very heavy and I believe its content is only appropriate for mature adults:

We’re approaching Jerusalem.  It is nearly time to wave branches and shout Hosanna’s.  We’ll rejoice with hope as our Love rides into town on a simple donkey.  Gathered around a dusty street we can reach out and trustingly hand Him the pains of the world.

We hope for a revolution, but will instead know redemption.

The redemption is enlightened empowerment. We’re all good, we’re all God’s children, all of us have rights because we all have dignity. It’s refreshing to be reminded. We have power to make changes. It’s awesome!

But, in the face of intense suffering, we’re overwhelmed and challenged.  We are stunned and slowed by the horror of children being used as sex slaves and other horrific sins.  How can we be the body of Christ and heal and help when the hurt is so extreme? How can we help others to know the sacredness of their own bodies and beings when they have never been told the truth?

How can we save the children?

The good news is that Jesus saves.  It’s not up to us to be messiahs, just helpers.  Christ’s power continues to unfold through us.  The Jerusalem story is our story.  Jesus has given us arms of love and compassion.  Jesus taught us how to set people free from the lies that enslave them.  We truly are instruments of peace.

It’s really hard work.  This love revolution won’t work if we’re judgmental or defensive, which is sometimes our automatic action.

Jesus went to the Mount of Olives.
But early in the morning he arrived again in the temple area,
and all the people started coming to him,
and he sat down and taught them.
Then the scribes and the Pharisees brought a woman
who had been caught in adultery
and made her stand in the middle.
They said to him,
“Teacher, this woman was caught
in the very act of committing adultery.
Now in the law, Moses commanded us to stone such women.
So what do you say?”
They said this to test him,
so that they could have some charge to bring against him.
Jesus bent down and began to write on the ground with his finger.
But when they continued asking him,
he straightened up and said to them,
“Let the one among you who is without sin
be the first to throw a stone at her.”
Again he bent down and wrote on the ground.
And in response, they went away one by one,
beginning with the elders.
So he was left alone with the woman before him.
Then Jesus straightened up and said to her,
“Woman, where are they?
Has no one condemned you?”
She replied, “No one, sir.”
Then Jesus said, “Neither do I condemn you.
Go, and from now on do not sin any more.”     –Jn 8:1-11

These radical actions of compassion and forgiveness are daily acts of regular relationships and small communities.

Turning the awfulness to joy and justice is also the acts of nations.  The United States’ new federal budget just expanded defense spending by 5 billion dollars, while drastically cutting funding to programs that provide assistance to the poorest of the poor.  We’ve reduced our acts of love and compassion and increased defense.

These last days of lent free us from all the stones of sin that are too heavy for us to carry. In order to pick up our palm branches we need to set down our stones.

When, O humanity, will we ever set down our stones?!