Let me continue last week’s reflection with a distinction that I think is incredibly important. That is the difference between happiness and joy. Happiness to me is transient. I am happy because the sun is shining, the temperature is just right, my coffee tastes great, the meal was good, and so forth. These are all things that make me happy. But my happiness can be overcome if a cloudburst catches me without an umbrella, a front moves in that changes the temperature, I spill my coffee and so on. I can be happy one moment and sad or grumpy the next. Happiness is not long lived or deep.

In contrast joy is a deep seated sense of peace that cannot be changed because my circumstances change. Joy is knowing that I am in God and God is in me. It is knowing that no matter what changes and chances I encounter in life I am God’s and God will never abandon me.

One of the best examples of a person who is filled with joy is St. Francis. Late in his life he was afflicted with blindness. He also had been given the gift of the stigmata. His hands, feet and side seeped blood. It made him weak and it was difficult for him to walk. The other brothers carried him about on a litter.

One evening they returned to the area of Assisi and came to the Convent of the Poor Clares, formerly the Church of San Damiano. The brothers built a lean-to for Francis to sleep in outside of their walls. It was near the sisters who could look after him, while the brothers went down into the forest for the night.

During the night Francis felt something drop on him. Then another something scurry across his legs. Field mice had invaded his lean-to sensing the warmth his body gave off in the confined space. Imagine Francis’ fear. He could not move to escape and could not see the little mice to shoo them away.

The next morning when the brothers returned they were horrified when they opened the shelter and scores of mice fled. Francis did not cry out in thanks but cried out for a scribe. For during the night while tormented by the mice, Francis composed what we call “The Canticle to Brother Sun.” Considered the first great poem in vernacular Italian. Despite his discomfort and perhaps even his terror, Francis had the well of joy into which he could dip. There the joy gave him the composition of a poem to tame his fears.

The problem for most of us is that we are “looking for love in all the wrong places.” We seek happiness instead of cultivating joy. Because we seek to be happy we are condemned to always be looking for a permanent state of being that by definition is impermanent. We are like mice scurrying from one thing to another and never satisfied because regardless of what we use—work, relationships, consumerism, power, sex, drugs, or alcohol—the derived happiness is temporary.

When we realize our folly and begin to nurture joy in our heart and soul we begin to find the deep well that can sustain us. Indeed, we find that we can be unhappy, sad, grieving or any other unpleasant state and still be filled with joy. It is a wonderful discovery, but it takes going against societal norms and teaching to get there.

It also takes work. Like cultivating a field there is earth to be plowed, perhaps many times and the planting of divine seed. It takes committed tending to make this garden grow. The work is ongoing but as the soil gives forth its fruit we are amazed at what we find, how we are fed, and how our lives are changed. It is not easy but it is worth it.

WherNext week in part three I will continue how I think one goes about finding and cultivating joy in life. In the meantime, continue to ponder where you find happiness and joy and see if you can make the distinction. 

Recently a friend shared a short article with me by Rabbi Rami Shapiro. The article asks an interesting question—“Does your religion give you joy?” He is taking off on the Marie Kondo’s book The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up. In that book she recommends a method of decluttering wherein we ask ourselves if an object gives us joy. If it does give us joy we thank it and put it back in its place. If it no longer gives joy, we thank it and give it away. Rabbi Rami, a fan of this method, asked the question of his religious practices.

The Rabbi admitted that when he first considered this question he felt that much of his religion did not give him joy. He writes that he went through the commandments and found seven of them that give him joy: keeping Sabbath, Jewish thanksgiving (Sukkot), contemplative/creative engagement with Jewish texts, earning money honestly and sharing it, saying Hebrew mantra, meditation, and loving neighbor and stranger.[1]

He then started asking others if their religion gave them joy. Sadly, many of them said their religion did not give joy. It seems that for many religion is a duty. For others the focus is on the payoff specifically “salvation.” Few, if any, indicated their religious life gave them joy. No wonder so many people leave the religious practices of their family looking for joy elsewhere. For many people there is a sense that their experience of the Divine should give them joy so they explore other religious practices until they find one that resonates.

Others people seem lost and always searching. There never seems to be a practice of faith that gives them a sense of joy. That is a condemnation on our religious leaders and the focus of their faith. While it was not the only reason I left the church of my childhood it certainly was one aspect. There it seemed to me that the focus was on sin, being unredeemable, and living in fear that salvation would be lost through my continued sinfulness. Even as we were told Jesus died for our sins, we could cancel out that gift of atonement and God’s grace by saying the wrong word, voting the wrong way, and doing the wrong things (which were many). Plus, we were told that only that denomination had the keys to heaven. All others were going to have to sneak into heaven if they could get there at all.

I felt that there had to be a better way. I felt Jesus was more positive, more loving, more forgiving, and more hope filled than what I was hearing coming from the pulpit. Interestingly, I had gotten that idea from Sunday School classes and Bible study in the same church.

When I was introduced to the Episcopal Church some ten years later, I felt I had found my home. The Episcopal Church is far from perfect. However, I found in the preaching and teaching and openness to diversity, a welcoming of the stranger, a willingness to entertain the hard questions, an openness to new revelations of God and God’s truth, and a sense that creation is good, and because each of us is made in the image of God we are fundamentally good and worthy of God’s love.

These concepts lifted a burden off of my heart and mind. It has taken many years to recover from some parts of my religious upbringing. I feel I am on that path, and I try to share it with others.

That is all very good, but it may not answer the question of what in my faith gives me joy. Moreover, what is the difference between joy and happiness. I think this distinction is essential.

I will visit those topics next week. For now, I ask that you reflect on your religious experience. Ponder what is duty, what is rote, what is annoying and what gives you a deep inner sense of joy or as we say in the Eucharist “the peace of God that passes all understanding.” That is where you want to focus yourself and learn what is being fed in you there.

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[1] Read his article here https://spiritualityhealth.com/blogs/roadside-musings/2019/06/02/the-joy-of-tidying-our-spiritual-lives

Recently someone asked me, “What is the bravest thing you have ever done?” It is an interesting question, perhaps even moreso because it was a teenager asking the question. That is, she might be wondering not just what brave thing I have done, but also what I think is a brave thing to do. I had to wonder what if anything I have done that would be considered brave.

When I hear the word brave I think of someone in a dangerous situation who does something remarkable or incredible that puts their life at risk. For example, the man who jumped into the icy Potomac River to rescue other passengers of the Air Florida crash in January 1982. Of course, there are Medal of Honor recipients who did brave things in battle. There are the men and women of the FDNY and NYPD who rushed to the rescue of those trapped in the World Trade Center buildings. There are those like them that are in harm’s way as part of their job every single day. But most people are not put in situations that require that kind of courage and bravery, especially of a physical nature.

Since that is the case, I wonder are there other acts of bravery or courage that people do that we might overlook because they do not come with a medal, certificate, or news article? Let us consider the man who is so overwhelmed by depression and a lack of self-worth who can barely see beyond the fog. Yet, each day he manages to get out of bed and go out into the world to do his work not knowing if there will ever be a break in the malaise. That seems brave to me.

There is the single mother abandoned by husband and family who finds a way to keep her children fed and safe. She gets them to school in clean clothes and sees that they do their homework each night. She does this while working two jobs. She is certainly brave.

Speaking of children, there are those who do not have mothers or fathers who care that much. They take care of little brothers and sisters functioning as a parent. I met children doing this in South Africa whose parents had died from HIV/AIDS. There were no orphanages for them. There was little public assistance. They did get some support from older villagers, but they also were the victims of adults who preyed on them. They were brave and wise beyond their years and sometimes jaded.

At the other end of the spectrum are older adults. They are widowed, alone and desperately trying to stay out of an institution. The institution might be an improvement in their living conditions and food, but it would not be home. They too manage bravely without support. No one knows their plight so that pity is even in short supply.

Actually, pity is not what any of these people want. They strive for dignity and self-sufficiency in their own way. They “screw [their] courage to the sticking place” and forge ahead. Bravery comes in many forms. It is seldom recognized, because much of it is seldom seen.

Each day we have the opportunity to look at those around us and see them as problems, impediments, annoyances, or nothing at all. We also have the opportunity to look at each person as a complex accumulation of experiences, hardships, trials, successes and failures. We can choose to go negative or go positive. Our choice may be the difference between someone healing a little or going deeper into the darkness. Swiss philosopher and poet Henri-Frédéric Amiel offered this guidance, “Life is short. We do not have much time to gladden the hearts of those who walk this way with us. So, be swift to love and make haste to be kind.”

This week I ran across this poem by Maya Angelou, called “Touched by an Angel.”

We, unaccustomed to courage
exiles from delight
live coiled in shells of loneliness
until love leaves its high holy temple
and comes into our sight
to liberate us into life.

Love arrives
and in its train come ecstasies
old memories of pleasure
ancient histories of pain.
Yet if we are bold,
love strikes away the chains of fear
from our souls.

We are weaned from our timidity
In the flush of love’s light
we dare be brave
And suddenly we see
that love costs all we are
and will ever be.
Yet it is only love
which sets us free.

In this Eastertide we rejoice in the love of Jesus. We rejoice in the ecstasies and pleasures of his selfless love. We can also rejoice in the old pains that are now salved and perhaps healed through the love of God in Christ. The first two and a half stanzas of the poem celebrate this, but it is the last half stanza where the truth comes to bear.

We cannot overlook that Christ’s love had a cost to it. Indeed, all love has a cost but to not love has a cost as well. C. S. Lewis wrote in his book The Four Loves, “To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly be broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket—safe, dark, motionless, airless—it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable.”

I am a sucker for coming of age stories. Looking through the eyes of a young person, I get to see things as if for the first time. I also get to see how the world widens around them as they see those they have known since birth with not so childish eyes. That is, when they see their parents and siblings as other people see them.

The classic in this respect is Harper Lee’s To Kill A Mockingbird. Through the course of the story Scout goes from seeing Atticus only as her father to seeing him as a man of many attributes. Her father becomes larger than life as Scout understands his principles, skills, and stature as the adults around them do. She idolizes her father but does not see the more complex man. Learning the shadow side of her father is for later, perhaps a later coming of age.

Lately I have been reading a different sort of coming of age story in the new novel Where the Crawdads Sing. The young girl in this novel, Kya, is presented with a harder life than Scout. Her parents abandon her. Her siblings do as well. When Kya learns how others see her parents it is not so much eye opening as it is affirming of her disappointment in their shortcomings. Kya has to fend for herself. She does so often remembering the little things that her mother or father taught her intentionally or by accident. She also learns through her own wits. I was captivated by Kya from the first pages. I am eager to learn how she will turn out as an adult. (It is a compelling story and I thank Jim Burns for recommending it to me.)

Truth be told we are all always coming of age. It may not be as poignant as the youngster seeing the world around her for the first time. It may not be quite as striking as when a boy takes his first tentative steps into manhood. But if we are true to the gift we have been given in this life we recognize that we are always on the cusp of something or we have just passed over the threshold.

We can, of course, live our life surround by luxuries small or large that numb us to the world. We can ignore the people around us to the extent that they do not contribute to our happiness and comfort. We can seal ourselves off in a world that is only our own, where we are the center and nothing matters except in how it effects our feelings and sense of wellbeing. I do not think that is a true life. It is certainly not why God put each of us here.

God is love and we are put on this earth for the purpose of love. That is what undergirds Torah and all scriptures. It is how Jesus distilled the scriptures when he was asked by the Scribe, “Which commandment is the first of all?”[1] Jesus did not answer with a commandment but with The Shema (שְׁמַע) “Hear, O Israel: the Lord our God, the Lord is one; you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and with all your strength.”[2] Jesus added a second commandment, “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.”[3] Jesus affirmed that we are here for two things: to love God, to love other people. That is it.

So we live our lives on the cusp of learning how to love more deeply, more truly, and more completely. We are always coming of age in ways we might never have imagined, but can experience because we are always present to God’s immense love for us and the world.

Norman Maclean wrote the following words which have guided me for more than twenty-five years, “I feel with increasing intensity that I can express my gratitude for still being around on the oxygen-side of the earth’s crust only by not standing pat on what I have hitherto known and loved. While oxygen lasts, there are still new things to love, especially if compassion is a form of love.”[4]

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[1] Mark 12:28b NRSV

[2] Deuteronomy 6:5

[3] Leviticus 19:18b

[4] Norman Maclean, Young Men and Fire, [Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1992], frontispiece.

Back in 1977 Billy Joel wrote a song saying “Only The Good Die Young.” This past week we had a partial confirmation of that saying in the death of Rachel Held Evans age 37, but the saying was also belied by the death of Jean Vanier age 90. Now we mourn the deaths of these two important Christian witnesses of generosity, inclusion, and trust.

Rachel Held Evans was raised in the evangelical tradition. She went to a Bryan College a school whose motto is “Christ above all.” Bryan College is named after William Jennings Bryan and is located in Dayton Tennessee, home of the so called “Scopes Monkey Trial.” Evans developed a curious and inquiring mind. She began a career in journalism after college, but within several years she was writing about her life as a Christian first in Evolving in Monkey Town and then in A Year of Biblical Womanhood: How a Liberated Woman Found Herself Sitting on Her Roof, Covering Her Head, and Calling Her Husband Master. Her writing gained a following among evangelicals but also the questioning, “nones”[1] and young women.

Her personal questioning, doubting, and resistance to the political stance of the evangelical churches led her to the Episcopal Church just a few years ago. She had written in 2015 that churches seeking to engage her generation would not be successful by making church “cool,” but rather by being genuine to their traditions, theology, and by being inclusive. She seemed to find that in the Episcopal Church.

Emma Green wrote in the Atlantic Monthly, that Evans’, “very public, vulnerable exploration of a faith forged in doubt empowered a ragtag band of writers, pastors, and teachers to claim their rightful place as Christians.”[2] There are numerous quotes from Rachel online and many speak to the condition of the faith at this time. I’m fond of, “The church is God saying: ‘I’m throwing a banquet, and all these mismatched, messed-up people are invited. Here, have some wine.’”

Jean Vanier lived a belief similar to that quote from Rachel. Vanier was a Canadian and Catholic by birth. His father was a diplomat stationed in Switzerland and later Governor General of Canada. Vanier had an eclectic education in Canada, France and England. He studied at the British Naval College and served in the British and Canadian Navies for several years until discerning a call to something more spiritual. He studied in Paris eventually earning a doctorate in philosophy.

His academic career continued until spiritual yearnings once again moved him. It was in 1964 that, after seeing the conditions that disabled people endure in institutions, he founded L’Arche (The Ark). These communities serve people with a variety of disabilities—mental, developmental, and physical—and their caregivers. L’Arche communities now exist in thirty-eight countries including Washington DC, Arlington, and Richmond. Henri Nouwen lived at the Daybreak Community of L’Arche in Toronto for the last ten years of his life learning much more about spirituality and God than he felt he learned in his many years in academia.

Despite doing what many would consider extraordinary things, Vanier famously said, “We are not called by God to do extraordinary things, but to do ordinary things with extraordinary love.” Remembering Vanier, Pope Francis said, “He was a man who was able to read the Christian call in the mystery of death, of the cross, of illness, the mystery of those who are despised and discarded.”[3]

The deaths of each of these saints, one who had a long life and one who died much too young, may leave us feeling our world is diminished. However, they both showed us in their own way that there is hope in the Lord. This hope is not of the variety that something might be, but rather of trust in God. This trust was that those who are marginalized by disability, gender, poverty, or anything that makes someone not “normal” or a misfit have an honored place at the table and are not relegated to something less.

When a saint passes into glory it is time to mourn our loss, but it is also time to revisit their words, actions and lives. We tack some of what they teach us onto our cross and carry on. The bell of John Donne’s poem[4] may have called these two saints home, but the bell that tolls for us calls us to worship and into new life in God as we carry the work of Rachel and Jean forward.

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[1] A term for the growing segment of the population in the U.S. that identifies with neither a religious tradition nor atheism.

[2] Green, Emma (May 6, 2019). “Rachel Held Evans, Hero to Christian Misfits” The Atlantic. Retrieved May 10. 2019.

[3] National Catholic Reporter, “Pope Francis Called Jean Vanier to thank him before his Death” by Cindy Wooden, Catholic News Service, May 7, 2019 accessed May 10, 2019

[4] John Donne, “Meditation XVII,” public domain.

I spend too much time online, especially on Facebook and YouTube. Every time I commit to reducing my time on these sites one of them gives me something that sparks my interest and my commitment to reducing my time goes down the drain. I am rather like a mouse in a Skinner Box experiment who gets just enough positive reinforcement to keep pressing the lever hoping for a treat. So it went this week when I watched a video about an 80-year-old widow and her encounter with three young African-American men.  

The video begins identifying the widow as Eleanor Baker who was having supper by herself at Brad’s Bar-B-Que in Oxford Alabama. Also enjoying barbeque at Brad’s were three young men. One of them, Jamario Howard, noticed that Mrs. Baker was sitting by herself. In an interview after the fact, he told a reporter that he “hates” seeing someone eating alone. The reporter noted that many of us feel the same way. We feel sorry for the person but we don’t do anything about it. Jamario is different. He went to Eleanor’s table and asked, “Do you mind having some company?” She said, “Go right ahead.” After introductions Eleanor, Jamario and his two friends ended up having supper together.

Mrs. Baker felt it was a God connection. The young men said that once you make that kind of connection it is hard to let it go. All the way home in the car all they talked about was their dinner with Eleanor. Jamario added, “I already feel like we are her grandkids.” When Eleanor was asked if she had room for these young men in her life she responded, “Of course.”

As presented on a news show this is a feel good end to a thirty-minute program that was probably full of the usual political crises, corruption, stories of broken lives and broken promises, and wars and rumors of wars. It served as an uplifting story for the end of a usual news day. But it can be much more than that.

Each person in this story acted in a mindful and Christian way. The young men were having a “good old time” but that did not blind them to a person whose evening was something quite possibly less than good. When Jamario approached Eleanor she could have responded out of fear and turned down his offer of company. After all, she was 80, alone and widowed. Were they going to try to get something out of her? Perhaps they would hit her up for money or worse. But she did not respond out of fear, she responded out of love.

It was love all around. Reading around the edges of this story we realize that there was a giving in love and an expectation of love. Today we often responded out of a place of fear. We fear the other, any other, but we especially fear the stranger. We do not trust anyone, because in some ways we do not trust ourselves. If we look at the other from the standpoint of what they might want from us, it could be because we never approach someone except when we want something. It could be because the general tenor of public discourse is one of scarcity. That is, we fear there is not enough to go around so we better get ours even if it hurts someone else.

For some, like Eleanor and Jamario and his friends, it comes naturally to approach others from a place of love and care without expectations. For others of us it takes some training. We need to see what it is like for people like Jamario. We need to see how it can be to respond in love as Eleanor did. Then we need to take the chance and do as Jesus taught; that is to always respond in love and care for the other. When we are able to do that it is because we put aside our fears knowing that with God’s love we have no need to fear.

Living mindfully and lovingly is not something the world teaches. It is not the discourse of politics, even in the best of times. It does not sell newspapers or fuel the 24-hour cable news cycle. It does not sell cars, clothing, deodorants, or anything else. Mindful Love as Jesus teaches is not a sales tool and does not have an extrinsic payoff. It may or may not have the intrinsic pay off of feeling good about oneself. But the payoff is not why we decide to live that way. We do it because we realize that it is the only way to truly live. We live that way because that is what God and Jesus call us to do. We are not giving back; we just give. We realize that when we do there is never a scarcity of anything. Giving in love begets only more love. Our cup runneth over.

At the end of the segment Jamario says, “I have always said, since I was a little kid, that I am going to change the world, somehow. I don’t know how, because I am not rich, I am not famous, and I am not very smart either…But we can show the world it is all right to be kind, and then before long the world will be a much better place.”

Blessings and Peace,
Gene

Now that we are in Eastertide we are reading passages of people encountering the resurrected Jesus. When I hear these these accounts about Jesus I often respond skeptically. That is, I listen attentively, but my brain is talking back to the Gospel saying something like, “Yea, sure, he just popped into a room with closed doors and windows.” Or “Yep, he broke the bread with the disciples at Emmaus and then he disappeared.” Like Jesus said, “Beam me up Scottie” so that he could flit around ancient Palestine. But as I was educated in post-Enlightenment, post-scientific revolution thought this just doesn’t make sense. It seems like this is the stuff of fantasy, sci-fi, or ghost stories.

As I ponder these descriptions, while they seem unreal, I think it could be that the writes were hamstrung by having to put such experiences into words. When they describe the experiences of the resurrected Jesus they do not have the words or the concepts to explain what they experienced. We as human beings have words for things that human beings know. Because they have never before experienced resurrection they do not have the vocabulary to communicate what it is like. At that point only Jesus can describe what it is to be resurrected. Let’s be clear resurrection and resuscitation are not the same thing. God did not bring Jesus back from the dead in the same way an EMT with defibrillation paddles or the Heimlich maneuver revives someone.

New life is what the resurrected Jesus is experiencing. And even if Jesus had sat down the disciples and his friends and explained to them what this new life was like they would not have been able to understand. The words aren’t there for it.

What Luke is writing is not unlike what Mary Oliver wrote—poetry. Because we do not have words to understand resurrection and other mysteries we need poetry. She writes, “Of course I have always known you/are present in the clouds, and the/black oak I especially adore, and the/wings of the birds.”[1] Like so many of us she admits the ability to see the wonder of God in nature. But she goes on to say that she knows that God is present in the body also. Isn’t that what the disciples knew? They could understand God being in the body and that is why they wanted to touch Jesus and were comforted by seeing him eat. If I can touch it I know it is real, that old Enlightenment thinking again. This “heaven of touch” is so wonderful and so comfortable that it takes time to discover our mutability.

But Oliver apprehends that there is something beyond what we can touch; this she calls “disembodied joy.” This is what I think Luke, Matthew and John were trying to get at in their Resurrection accounts of Jesus. There is something different about the resurrected Jesus that is beyond our comprehension. He can be embodied, but he is also disembodied in a way that is new and beyond our knowing.

Just as Luke shows us the dawning comprehension of the disciples in their conversations with Jesus, Oliver writes, “Slowly appreciation swells to/astonishment. And we enter the dialogue”. There is something new going on here and we seek to apprehend it with words. But she guides us writing it “is beyond all under-/standing or conclusion. It is mystery.” She reminds us that we are just like the disciples encountering the risen Lord. We don’t have the words for this new way of being because it is unexplainable and unknowable in the cognitive sense. We cannot test it to satisfy our scientific methods or our Enlightenment rationale, because it exist outside of what is knowable in those ways.

In the end because it is unexplainable and unknowable we must know it in a different way. Some call this knowledge pre-cognitive knowing, others poetry, others intuition and others knowing with the heart. It is this knowing beyond knowing that Luke and Mary Oliver describe. It is this knowing beyond knowing that made the resurrected Jesus real to the disciples and makes him real to me now. It is this knowing beyond knowing that makes for me the bread and wine of communion something more than a holy snack. It is in this knowing beyond knowing where I experience the love of God and the promise of new life.

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[1] From “Six Recognitions of the Lord” by Mary Oliver in Thirst [Boston: Beacon, 2006]

“Antiphon” by George Herbert

Cho. Let all the world in ev’ry corner sing,                         My God and King.    Vers.  The heav’ns are not too high,         His praise may thither flie:         The earth is not too low,         His praises there may grow. Cho.  Let all the world in ev’ry corner sing,                         My God and King.   Vers. The church with psalms must shout,         No doore can keep them out:         But above all, the heart         Must bear the longest part. Cho.  Let all the world in ev’ry corner sing,                         My God and King.

As I have read and pondered the scriptures of Holy Week I have been intrigued by the dichotomies of dark and light, evil and good, and fear and hope. Underlying or running through all of this is the element of confusion.

These are not particularly unusual aspects to encounter in times of crisis. Certainly Holy Week is a time of crisis; especially as the synoptic gospels (Mark, Matthew and Luke) report the events.

The festival of Passover was going to be a tense time in Jerusalem anyway. Passover is the Jewish celebration of their liberation by God from the Egyptians. Yet they were celebrating this under the eyes of their latest oppressor—The Romans. As the week progresses, Jerusalem will be overflowing with pilgrims coming to celebrate the holy days. As more enter the city tensions will grow and tempers flare, if for no other reason than the crush of people filling up the city and the Temple Mount.

Throughout the week people gathered in the outer precincts of the Temple gossiping, meeting friends, and talking politics. It was like a vast church coffee hour with thousands of people in attendance. All the time they were being spied upon by the Roman troops garrisoned in the Antonia Fortress which overlooked the Temple Mount.

There was a sense within the city that something dramatic might happen. The Romans sensed this as did the Temple authorities. They were ready to come down hard on anything that looked like it could lead to insurrection or violence. Adding to the tension was the presence of Jesus and the attendant eagerness to hear his teaching, preaching and see his miracles. There were several incidents among Jesus and his followers that added to the pressure building in the city.

First, during Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem there were crowds cheering him on. Certain religious leaders looked askance at this show of popularity. Some even implored Jesus to silence the crowds. They want to tone down the situation to prevent the Romans from noticing what is going on. They are also concerned that what seems like a joyful parade could turn into a riot.

Jesus’ running the money changers and sellers of sacrificial animals out of the Temple further stirs up the situation. People need to get their money changed in order to make an offering (Roman money was no good because it had Caesar’s image on it). They needed to be able to purchase animals to make their sacrifice at the altar. Jesus’ actions upsets business as usual.

The good guys and the bad guys in these situations depended on your point of view. It also depended on the latest rumors running through the crowd. There was no social media to fan the flames, but people have always liked to talk and speculate, and there are some people who like to make mischief for mischief’s sake. The result as uncertainty and competing interests come into play is “moral bewilderment.” There is uncertainty among the people about who is acting bravely and who is just a troublemaker, what is truth and what are only unfounded rumors and lies.

You and I know what is going to happen but we look on fascinated at how the men and women act. We wonder if we would have been as courageous as some of the women or as cowardly as most of the men. Would we have shouted “Crucify him” or melted into the crowds picking up a disguise along the way. This uncertainty makes the events of Holy Week even more poignant.

We cannot know what we would have done during that momentous week almost two thousand years ago. So we do what we can now. We wait. We watch. We pray a psalm. We sing and chant. We give our hearts over to the one who gave his all for us, and we vow anew to live faithfully and lovingly through the power of God’s grace.