Good Friday Meets Earth Day: Tweets & Reflections on Dying and Living during Holy Week

My "tweets" for Good Friday and Earth Day:

Don't make the earth go dark again, be Christ on this earth by caring for all of God's earth and all in God's earth. #goodfirday #earthday

If Jesus suffered & died for your sins, don't let people suffer for your food. Drink fair trade coffee @ home & church #goodfriday#earthday

Put your faith into action at church. Don't use styrofoam for coffee at church. Use mugs. Have people bring their own. #goodfriday#earthday

Broaken & multiplied loaves foreshadow Good Friday & Easter. The earth is breaking & only we can replenish it. #goodfriday #earthday

The Earth groans for salvation. It mourns w/us this Good Friday.#goodfriday #earthday

When Jesus died, the earth is said to have shaken. God & the Earth have a close relationship. Honor one, honor both. #goodfriday#goodearthday

In "Due Date," Jamie Foxx's character uses a reusable coffee filter in his home. Will you? #earthday #godsearth

When today began, I was unsure how to celebrate Earth Day and observe Good Friday. Good Friday is a somber day, a time to remember Jesus' suffering. A time to mourn Jesus' death. No death is "good." Even if good comes from a death, it is unfortunate that someone had to die. Even Jesus.

Good Friday is also a time to mourn our sins and the havoc they--no--the havoc we wreak. The wages of sin are not just death, but also the immediate consequences of our sins. If we do not take care of our body, we get sick or we die sooner than we might have otherwise. If we are cruel to someone, we receive regret and their scorn, hurt and physical and/or mental bruise

Those last examples scar me the most. When I mourn my sin, I mostly mourn how other people pay for the wages of my sins. Many commemorate Jesus as paying the price for our sins, but there are a few expenses not even Jesus could pay. If I hit someone, they still bruise. If I berate my children, they develop the psychological complexes. If I buy cheap chocolate, coffee, and tea, the people doing the most menial tasks to produce those luxuries pay the price I don't pay as their quality of life goes down. [1] The same goes for when I buy clothing produced at sweat shops, especially cheap clothing, but even many more chic, more expensive brands and stores. If I buy a lot of individually wrapped granola bars, candy bars, or fast food, the earth pays. God's earth pays. And everything on the earth pays, too. Including us.

God did not send Jesus to pay for those wages of sin. Those wages are ours to pay. So on this Good Friday and Earth Day, I thank God for Christ on the cross and the Earth we all ravage. I remember the death of Jesus and the dying of the Earth. I remember that sins cause death and sins cause suffering, not just suffering on the cross, but also suffering on this earth. And I remember that caring for the Earth is caring for people, just like loving all people is loving God.

Dear reader, I hope you have a meaningful end of your Holy Week. As we come to celebrate Easter, let us celebrate the life of Christ by being Christ, by restoring God's creation to its glory--people, animal, and earth alike.


Footnote:
[1] Christians send missionaries and mission teams to the same people who suffer from our cheap coffee, tea, chocolate, and clothing. If we send mission teams without purchasing fairly traded luxuries, then we are sending quite the mixed message. We say, essentially, that we care for their afterlife, not their current life. We say it is OK for them to suffer in this life because of us and then live beside us in the next.

So This is Easter

I'm so tired of thinking about death. Geez Louise! At church I'm expected to drink the blood and eat the body of Christ, not to mention this whole season of Lent where we focus on waiting and preparation--on the death and cross of Jesus. It has been a long Lent, friends.

In my thesis research, I read about the death of God.

My grandmother died late December and Dr. Goodman early January. I think of them almost constantly.

I went to a wedding in Maine, but couldn't stop thinking about my next trip to Maine, when we will celebrate my grandmother's life. I could barely talk about her when I was in Maine. I don't even know if she had been buried yet (the ground is often frozen and covered in snow during a Maine winter, so bodies are kept in mausoleums until the weather warms up). I hope that service will give some sort of closure to my mourning process.

I keep having dreams of people dying. I've had at least two since my nana and Goodman, perhaps three. If not three since then, I know I had another one in the past year. One is too many.

I have an amazing picture of my nana on my desk ... it has some scratches on it. Those scratches really disturb me. I truly must purchase a frame.Geez Louise! I'm tired of thinking about death.

In The Secret, Petrarch thinks we should think about death frequently, because it gives a good sense of humility and reality. I don't think Petrarch had in mind what I've had in my mind.

If my mother is reading this piece, I bet she's almost in tears. For me and for her loss, too.

But it is Easter, my friends.
He is risen.
He is risen, indeed.
Indeed, he is risen!
Exclamation point!
Hallelujah, hallelujah, amen!

It is because he lives that I can face tomorrow. Paul tells us Jesus was the first fruits of resurrection. "First" implies more will follow. That's you and me. That's Goodman and my Shirley Mae Grant. I mourn, but I don't mourn like those with no hope of resurrection.

I don't know if I'll ever see them again. I really don't. I don't know what God's kingdom will be like after the parousia. I expect to see a lot of Christians, a lot of Jews, and a lot of people I don't expect. Can you expect something you don't expect? I think you can, in the abstract at least. Still, I can hope to see Goodman and my nana again.

I was brought up believing in an intermediary state between death and resurrection, but I would love to see Nana and Goodman and hear, "I prayed for you sometimes, Trevár. I was pleased when I saw how pleased God was with you. Glad to see you, but I really must be going. So busy! Do give me a call some time and we'll grab some drinks, my brother." Then I imagine we'll hug and go our separate ways. And I honestly don't care what anyone thinks about that image, because I like it. To me, it is beautiful, regardless of the theology.

Whether they are in heaven, in the grave, with what remains of their body, in some spiritual realm, in Purgatory, in the kingdom--wherever those who have died are, I anticipate their resurrection.

Petrarch wanted us to think of death, but I highly recommend thinking about some resurrection, too. If you can. Sometimes I don't think resurrection is going to do anything but distract you from your loss. Thinking about good things doesn't make the bad feelings go away. And I hear holidays and birthdays are the worst when you've lost someone. If you've lost someone, by death or otherwise, I hope there will come a time, however long or brief--perhaps an Easter--when you can be taken away with your hope at the expense of your loss.

I pray we all can be taken away with our hope at the expense of our loss.

I'm glad Lent doesn't come again for a long time.......

Meditations on Tenebrae, Lent, and Holy Week

This year, I was really struck by Maundy Thursday. Perhaps it was less Maundy Thursday and more a service of Tenebrae, a latin word for "darkness," and a liturgical time of extinguishing candles (sometimes extended over the last three days of Holy Week, which is the three days before Easter ... Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and Holy Saturday).

At Shelby Presbyterian, our Tenebrae began with a prelude by Bach, "O Man, Bewail Thy Grievous Sin." Because Bach and Mozart are both classical artists, I was reminded (in later reflection, more than during the service) of the postlude for our Stations of the Cross service the previous night, a piece from Mozart's famous Requiem Mass, the Lacrimosa.

Liturgically, a Requiem Mass is a service for the dead and composers set the service to music. The Lacrimosa can be translated as follows (according to wikipedia), I'll include the Latin to the right:

Tearful that day, Lacrimosa dies illa
on which will rise from ashes qua resurget ex favilla
guilty man for judgment. judicandus homo reus.
So have mercy, O Lord, on this man. Huic ergo parce, Deus
Compassionate Lord Jesus, Pie Jesu Domine,
grant them rest. Amen. Dona eis requiem. Amen.

For me, our service began as confession, as humbling. I recognized and mourn(ed) my sins and the sins of those present and not present. It is, after all, Lent.

Following the prelude, there was a prayer and a song of praise, "All Glory, Laud, and Honor" and a responsive reading of praise from scripture (Mark 11:1, 4, 7-10).

Then, the darkness began. The rest of the service was broken into stages of darkness, metaphorically and literally. The first was the darkness of misunderstanding and expressed through a responsive reading of pieces of John and Mark. After the reading, a candle was extinguished and the lights dimmed. The darkness of misunderstanding gave way to the darkness of betrayal in Matthew 26:20-28, a betrayal that may not have been seen as betrayal until it was too late. Not just the betrayal of Judas, though, but also the betrayals we daily enact to God, each other, and creation. Another candle extinguished, the lights dimmed again.

And amidst the darkness of betrayal, but after the dimming, we continued with the reading from Matthew that led us to communion, singing "Let us break bread together on our knees."

We moved into the darkness of temptation, but not the temptation where Satan takes Jesus into the wilderness. This temptation was the temptation of freedom, of peace, and of comfort. It was the temptation where Jesus prays for God to save him from crucifixion and where Jesus' disciples sleep instead of pray. We read Matthew 26:30-31, 36-46. We, too, are tempted to lounge instead of pray and to escape any sort of persecution, any sort of death to sin and self, any sort of cross, running instead to freedom, peace, and comfort. Another candle extinguished, the lights further dimmed.

Jesus resisted this temptation, which means we can, too. And when he did and when we do, we move into the darkness of injustice at Jesus' trials of condemnation by humanity, by us. Another candle. Less light. "Go to Dark Gethsemane": learn from Jesus Christ to die.

If we make it as far as the darkness of injustice individually or corporately, we will face another temptation, one to which Peter succumbed in the courtyard of Mark 14:66-72: the darkness of denial. Although this darkness was a hard one to experience, a hard candle to extinguish, it was the next that made my voice quiver.

We read the following, a selection from Luke 23:13-24. The parts in bold were read by the congregation:

Pilate then called together the chief priests, the leaders and the people, and said to them,
"You brought me this man as one who was perverting the people; and here I have examined him in your presence and have not found this man guilty of any of your charges against him. Neither has Herod, for he sent him back to us. Indeed, he has done nothing to deserve death. I will, therefore, have him flogged and release him."
Then they all shouted together, "Away with this fellow!"
"Release Barabbas for us!"
"Crucify him!"
"Crucify him!"
And their voices prevailed. So Pilate gave his verdict that their demand should be granted.

The sixth candle was extinguished. The lights were completely off. The only light remaining was the dull, natural light from the cloudy evening and the light from the Christ candle. We sang, "Were You There?" and the sanctuary was stripped of all decorations. The purple lenten cloths were removed. The candles were removed. The Bible was removed. We even removed the table cloth where the sacraments sat. I have been at some churches that not only strip the church, but also cover it in black. The church entered a time of mourning as we entered the last darkness, the darkness of crucifixion, a darkness and a mourning that will last until that great morning.

After reading from some words on the cross, the Christ candle, too, was extinguished, alluding to Jesus' death. As we sat in silence, darkness, thought, and emotion, one of the pastors took a match and in expectation of Easter, re-lit the Christ candle during the Benediction. We mourn, but not like the rest of the world, because we expect that resurrection.

We exited in meditative silence, by the dull, natural light of a cloudy evening and the light of Christ. In my meditation, I decided to add a line to a poem I wrote, a poem that has frequented my blogs, and one I would like to further explain in the near future.

Tenebrae.
Lacrimosa.
Maranatha.
Requiem.

Lacrimosa.
Marantaha.
Amen.