Miss PaviElle French sang this solo at Shepherd of the Hill Presbyterian Church in Chaska, MN on Easter, 2014.
Miss PaviElle French sang this solo at Shepherd of the Hill Presbyterian Church in Chaska, MN on Easter, 2014.
At Tenebrae, the ancient Maundy Thursday Service of Light and Shadow, there are no off-the-cuff remarks. Only Scripture. Only the story we do not want to hear. Our betrayal. Our cowardice. Our weariness. Our betrayal with a kiss. Our violence. Our denial. Our flight.
The church is dark except for the worshipers’ candles.
One by one, the worshipers blow out their candles as the nine readings are read from the midst of the congregation, as we recognize ourselves in the plot that leads to the crucifixion.
We know. We know this is our story. Our reality. Our dilemma.
Then, as if it were tonight, bread is broken. The wine is poured. In silence we share our common lot and wait for the good news we already know.
This Sunday is Palm Sunday when Christians celebrate “The Triumphal Entry” into Jerusalem, which was anything but triumphant. The New Testament Gospels describe it differently, which has absorbed the concentrated attention of more than one scholar or preacher trying to reconcile their differences. Steve Shoemaker, in his inimitable way, engages the debate about whether Jesus rode on just one donkey or two.
Perpectives
Matthew alone tells of the two,
the mare & colt, who carried him
into Jerusalem that day.Since then many have mocked that view
as based more on an ancient hymn
than what an eye-witness would say.But whether one sees one or two
depends upon the point of view:
and all saw Jesus, by the way…
– Steve Shoemaker, Urbana, IL, April 8, 2014
“We are nature; nature is us. We are NOT the exception to nature.” Rev. Gordon Stewart looks at basic religious assumptions of Western culture and the need to reinterpret the stories that got us here. He looks at the stories of creation, Cain and Abel, and the Wise Men who “departed by another way” as holding clues to the change in consciousness that is required in our time.
Too many people ask
Do you believe in God?
I ask only
Does God believe in you?
– Steve Shoemaker, Urbana, IL, March 30, 2014
This sermon on Nicodemus, the good man who comes to Jesus in the night, was delivered last Sunday at Shepherd of the Hill Presbyterian Church in Chaska, Minnesota. Edward Tanner’s painting, referred to in the sermon, depicts Jesus sitting on the edge of a house rooftop with his back to the far horizon. Nicodemus is facing Jesus. Jesus tells Nicodemus he must be born again.
The paint was a rich brown with tones
of red. The brush was wide and held
the paint along the nylon tips
without a drip.
The wood I painted had been done
before, but years ago, and not
done very well. The wood had split
exposing ugliness.
The wet paint spread and filled the holes.
The boards soon showed no trace of sin.
I woke, but forced myself to sleep
some more–to paint again.
– Steve Shoemaker, Urbana, IL, March 15, 2014
“Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” The words of Ash Wednesday jar us to a sudden stop.
It may be the most honest day of the Christian liturgical calendar, the day our daily denial of death is called out from the shadows of species-illusion and self-delusion that tells us, “You will not die.”
Who is the ‘you’ that is dust (of the earth) and will return to dust?
We think the body will die. But not the “I”. Not the “you”. Only matter, not spirit, not my soul. The imposition of ashes says differently. Remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return.” The ashes are “imposed” on the forehead in the sign of the cross. In those few seconds I stand before the mirror of my mortal reality more humbly, jarred, but somehow strangely comforted, that I – and all things natural, human and otherwise – are dust, and that it is as it should be, if only we understood and gave thanks for today.
The palms had been saved for 11 months,
then burned to ashes. Thin tapers all lay
like kindling near the Christ candle. Our mouths
moved silently reciting sins. Today
we wear a black plus on foreheads:
it means we have forgiven all of those
who sinned against us, and even ourselves.
We light a taper, place it in the sands
surrounding Christ, shifting under us.
We tell the skeptical that God forgives
them–they tell us the same absurd good news.
Our Pastor prays and lays upon our heads
a blessing undeserved. We leave this place
each marked by two crossed lines of dirty grace.
– Steve Shoemaker, Urbana, IL, March 6, 2014