Holy Week / Good Friday (Seeking: Why have you forsaken me?)

to ask why

To ask why

is to break open your heart,

to pour yourself out,

to stare into

the gnawing emptiness

of the tomb,

to peel away

any layer of security,

to walk on fire,

and stand in the rain.

It’s talking about the bad dreams

after you’ve had them.

It’s courageous and vulnerable,

painful and necessary.

To ask why

is to declare

that God is God.

To ask why is to say,

be my God

even when,

especially when,

the world falls apart.

Poem by Rev. Sarah (Are) Speed

reprinted with permission from A Sanctified Art

Maundy Thursday (Seeking: Will you wash my feet?)

By Our Love | Hannah Garrity paper lace over oil paint on golf leaf

read John 13:1-17, 31b-35

from the artist | Hannah Garrity

“Yes, they’ll know we are Christians by our love, by our love. Yes, they’ll know we are Christians by our love.”11

We know that the disciples and Jesus were constantly on the move, walking from one town to the next. The dust on their feet was surely ever-present. What is the meaning of the foot washing ritual? I find that it is a show of sacrificial love, a show of intimate care. In the art for this week, I visually explore the contrast between the structures of human power and the soft, sacrificial love of God.

Vertical, diagonal, and horizontal lines are found in architecture, in power grids, in city planning. Cold, glossy marble, gold leaf, cavernous ceilings with great height: these are the materials, the lines, of human power. In this image, vertical and diagonal lines place Jesus in a grand throne room. Yet the power he offers on this Maundy Thursday is not a power understood by the cold, sharp, human power exhibited in the architecture.

By leaning down and washing the feet of his disciples, Jesus introduces a curve in the layout. Jesus’ figure kneels over a bowl of water at the top of the stairs. This act of sacrificial love ripples like water through the lives of Jesus’ disciples, from that year to this one. It is organic; it is mysterious. Ripples and edges intersect, expanding outward from the figure. The collision of human and heavenly power exhibits a daily phenomenon. Which power will you choose? Whose feet will you wash?

11 Scholtes, Peter. “They’ll Know We Are Christians.” © 1966 F.E.L. Publications, assigned to the Lorenz Publishing Company, 1991.

reprinted with permission from A Sanctified Art

Maundy Thursday (Seeking: Will you wash my feet?)

read John 13:1-17, 31b-35

commentary | Rev. Danielle Shroyer

Sometimes it is so hard to let Jesus love us. It’s the love we need most in the world, and yet, sometimes within us resides a roadblock, a kind of joy barrier. And only love can wash that away.

On Maundy Thursday, we remember when Jesus washes the disciples’ feet. He takes the time to do this in a week that will include his own arrest, betrayal, and death. It is this important to him to spend time with his students and closest friends in this way.

Priest and theologian Rev. Sam Wells says that “with” is the most important word in the Gospels.10 It is this “with” that, above all, marks the unique character of Divine Love. Jesus wants to be with us: not above us, not over us, not even in charge of us. With us. And on this night, he shows what it means to “love his disciples to the end” (John 13:13) by being with them as he washes their feet.

And yet, this same act of service and vulnerable love feels completely unacceptable to Peter. How can an offer of such love be so unwillingly received? It can be so hard to let Jesus love us. Is it because it will ask so much of us to follow in his example? Is it because this love will ask us to wash someone else’s feet, even when our love for them is lacking?

On this night where water is poured out like attending love, and betrayal awaits in the shadows, Jesus tells his friends to love one another. He tells them this knowing he will love them to the end, and beyond. Jesus asks those of us who follow him to serve the world in love and with love.

What does it look like for Jesus to wash your feet this Lenten season? Will you let him? And…will you seek to be the kind of person who washes the feet of others, loving one another as Jesus asks?

Reflect: What does it look like for Jesus to wash your feet this Lenten season? Will you let him?

10 Wells, Samuel. Incarnational Ministry: Being with the Church. (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans Publishing Company, 2017)

reprinted with permission from A Sanctified Art

Holy Week | Maundy Thursday (Seeking: Will you wash my feet?)

of all the ways

You could show up with sugar cubes and

two plump oranges,

delivering a pep talk as you hang your coat.

You could provide a meal, filling the house with the sweet

smells of rosemary and sage,

lighting the candles, playing music through the rooms.

You could leave rambling voice memos that start with,

Hey, it’s me,

I was just thinking of you, and carry on to share the details

of your day.

You could get eye-level with the little ones, ask them

questions like,

What should we put in your fort? And, what’s your

favorite farm animal?

You could remember people’s first and middle names,

signs of an old-school love.

You could add your pronouns to your nametag and

Zoom screen.

You could cry with her when her dog gets sick.

You could remember how he likes his cookies—

soft or crispy.

You could deliver Thai food and order extra sticky rice,

because sometimes we just need extra sticky rice.

You could drop off flowers.

You could tell the waitress, “It’s their birthday!”

There are a million ways to show someone your love.

Footwashing was his.

Poem by Rev. Sarah (Are) Speed

reprinted with permission from A Sanctified Art

Palm / Passion Sunday: (Seeking: Where are you headed?)

Power Play | Rev. Lisle Gwynn Garrity: Silk painting with digital drawing and collage

read Matthew 21:1-11

from the artist | Rev. Lisle Gwynn Garrity

In their book, The Last Week, theologians Marcus Borg and John Crossman assert that there were actually two parades occurring simultaneously in Jerusalem on this day. From the east, Jesus entered on a donkey. From the west, the Roman governor, Pontius Pilate, entered with an imperial guard. They write: “Jesus’ procession proclaimed the kingdom of God; Pilate’s proclaimed the power of empire. The two processions embody the central conflict of the week that led to Jesus’ crucifixion.”⁹

This image is a meditation on these opposing processions and the embodiment of power. Pilate processes with a pompous display of armor, accompanied by soldiers. For him, power is displayed by superiority, elitism, and weaponry. Later in the week, he will use his power to satisfy the crowds willing Jesus to be crucified, despite not finding any offense to justify it (read John 18 & 19). He uses his power for violence, to appease the status quo.

Jesus enters the city on a donkey with her young colt in tow. He wears no armor, only soft linens. In this image, I imagine if the composition were expanded, Jesus would be kneeling, humbling himself before his disciples as he washes their feet. In Jesus’ processional, members of the crowd lay down their coats as a display of humility and honor. This foreshadows the way Jesus will take off his outer robe and tie a towel around his waist to wash his friends’ feet. Jesus embodies power through a posture of vulnerability, through caring for those who desperately need love.

Which parade you would join in Jerusalem has a lot to say about your definition of power. If you are quick to place yourself in Jesus’ parade, I encourage you to pause and consider these questions honestly: When have you aligned yourself with systems or people who have used their power for violence or to uphold the status quo? When have you embodied power through vulnerability and love for your neighbor?

9 Borg, Marcus J. and John Dominic Crossman. The Last Week: What the Gospels Really Teach About Jesus’ Final Days in Jerusalem. (New York: HarperSanFrancisco, 2006). 

reprinted with permission from A Sanctified Art

Holy Week: Palm/Passion Sunday: Commentary (Seeking: Where are you headed?)

read Matthew 21:1-11

commentary | Rev. Bruce Reyes-Chow

Today, let’s stay at the parade, for just a moment. Because we know what comes after Palm Sunday, it is easy to quickly judge and rebuke the crowd that eventually turns on Jesus. Oh, those silly people, cheering on a triumphal entry as if he were a victor returning from war and not a human who was about to disrupt the very fabric and stability of the world, which included him dying.

The thing is, in many ways these two things were happening at the same time; the question is which Jesus will we follow, then and now. I am certain that the Jesus we choose to follow has everything to do with our current state of being. If you have been struggling, feel set aside or ignored, or are experiencing powerlessness or marginalization, any glimpse of gaining back some power or security would not only be welcomed but cheered. I can only imagine that the deeper the struggle, the more vibrant the joy would be at the promise of some relief.

So again, let’s be at the parade, but let’s also be very clear about which Jesus we are cheering on: the militaristic victor or the humble subversive—for either could be born from pent-up frustration and struggle. I hope that many are resisting the wave of Christian nationalism that has been the dominant Christian narrative in our political discourse. Too many are choosing the narrative of Jesus as a wartime victor and choosing a Gospel militarized against anyone who would stray from a litmus test of beliefs—beliefs that Jesus never actually addressed and beliefs certainly not included in the commandments, that Jesus did speak to us, to love God with all your heart and mind and strength and to love your neighbor as yourself.

Now that second Jesus, that one who is turning over tables, challenging power, and sitting with sinners in order to heal and love, that’s the one worthy of a parade.

Reflect: Which Jesus will you follow: the militaristic victor or the humble subversive? How is your faith shaped by the version of Jesus you follow?

reprinted with permission from A Sanctified Art

Holy Week: Palm/Passion Sunday: Poem (Seeking: Where are you headed?)

where are you headed?

We are trains on a track,

moving through life at warp speed.

Please keep all arms and legs

inside the moving vehicle

at all times.

The years pass like a flipbook,

faster than we can absorb,

but the train does not stop.

We press our faces to the windows

to try and get a good view

and we ask each each other,

Where are you headed?

And there on the train

we decide—

we want to head toward

the promised day.

We want to head toward crowded tables

and long, healthy lives.

We want to move in the direction of joyful children,

and hopeful communities.

We want to move closer to God

with every mile of track,

and that does not happen by accident.

So it’s time to ask,

Where are you headed,

and who’s driving that train?

Poem by Rev. Sarah (Are) Speed