Moving toward Holy Week

Last evening my husband and I attended the final soup supper at our church for this season of Lent. It was well attended and the numbers have grown throughout the season. We've had good conversations, eaten delicious soups and desserts, and gotten to know more people at our new church.

Following supper, we went into the sanctuary for the service. We've made good use of Holden Evening Prayer, written in 1985-86 by Marty Haugen during a musical residency at Holden Village. After six weeks of the service we're finally mastering the round part, and that's it until next year. Hoping we use it again. I appreciate the prayerful music within it and Pastor Richard's voice carries it well. [Though the video has some echo, the music is soothing and melodic.]

Thus the six weeks of Lent brings us to Palm Sunday this weekend, a celebration of Jesus' entry into Jerusalem and the beginning of Holy Week, as the church calls it. I think of it more as more a hellish week for Jesus, given the betrayal and pain he endured.

This poem is one I wrote years ago, pondering the sacrifice foreshadowed on Palm Sunday. The poem was first published in Esprit (Spring 2006), a women's magazine of the Evangelical Lutheran Women I used to write for until its closure..


Sacrifice

My borrowed beast
climbs the rocky path
treading cautiously over robes
that carpet dusty earth

shaded
by a canopy of palms
his body trembles amid shouts of

Hosanna

such a young colt
he does not hurry –
as if he knows what is to come

outside the city gates
the crowd thins and hosannas fade
inside
a poor man empties his pocket
to buy a dove

my beast of burden can rest now
my time is coming

© 2006 Esprit Spring Edition, Carolyn Wilker

https://www.carolynwilker.ca/

Flying High by Glynis M. Belec

“A wise woman will always let her husband have her way”

      Don’t misunderstand me. Happy Hubby is as red blooded and fearless as the next guy. I’m certain he has what it takes to slay any dragon at the drop of his cloak and come to the rescue of his damsel in distress.

      But my dearly beloved is not so fearless when it comes to heights. Ever since I’ve known him, he’s always maintained that we’d have been issued wings with our other appendages if we were meant to defy the force of gravity. The thought of flying does not thrill him. Even climbing a ladder higher than a storey and a half puts the poor guy into a tizzy.

      Imagine my surprise last weekend when that darling man I married suggested we take a helicopter ride. We were behaving like typical tourists at Niagara Falls, seeing the sights and doing a lot of pointing. As we approached the heliport, the van slowed down and we turned into the parking lot. Like hot buttered popcorn, the kids jumped up and down with noisy anticipation.

      “Calm down, guys!” I ordered, noticing Happy Hubby’s smirk. “We’re just going to watch the helicopters for a while.”

      Not for one moment did I suspect my gravity conscious sweetheart would ever suggest taking off.

      “Let’s go for a helicopter ride. We’ll see lots more from up there.”

      “What? Are you sure?” I asked, mouth agape.

      “Close your mouth and bring the kids.”

      By this time the children were ecstatic. I still couldn’t believe it. After all, it was not that long ago, at Santa’s Village, when we went for a ride in the (small, not very scary) Christmas Ball Ferris Wheel. There Poppa Bear sat – the blood slowly draining from his face; perspiration dripping from his brow, and the ride hadn’t even started at that point. But we did appreciate his efforts.

      Flying over the magnificent Falls was going to be an experience for us all (in more ways than one, we later discovered). The kids were thrilled. We waited in line for a few minutes. When our turn came up I will admit that my stomach did a slight flip as we ducked under the great whirling blades.

      Happy Hubby took the front seat while the kids and I slid into the back. A young fellow helped us buckle in and the bearded pilot smiled, welcomed us aboard and instructed us to don our headphones. That was our last verbal communication with the pilot for there was a taped, tour recording playing in our headsets.

      The lift-off was not too bad. We all huddled a little closer in the back seat. I noticed my hubby inching slightly closer to the pilot.

      The view was incredible. The cars looked like Dinky toys and the built-up areas were so vast. Not sure how much of the view my dearly beloved had. He seemed to be staring straight ahead; trance-like.

      Then, without warning, the helicopter tipped; actually it turned but it sure felt like it was tipping – right over the Falls, too. For a brief moment I felt queasy. But I soon forgot about it when I noticed that old familiar sight – the blood draining from his face; perspiration trickling from his brow; white knuckles clinging to the seat. I started to giggle. Then we tipped the other way. Happy Hubby looked like he was going to grab the pilot. Although he didn’t move an inch, I knew exactly what he was feeling. I could read his body language. It was screaming, “Get me outa’ here! Stop this thing! Never, ever, ever, ever am I taking my feet off the ground again!”

      The ride lasted for about 15 minutes. I am sure my hubby thought it more like 15 hours. Poor guy. That was pretty brave of him to make that sacrifice for his family. He obviously did that because he loves us.

   Reminds me of Someone else who loved us so much that He made the supreme sacrifice.

The Good Shepherd did not have to do that for our sake. But He did. He made

that choice. He knew the ramifications of His decision. He understood the

abuse, the suffering, the sorrow; he realized the  cross was imminent.  

      Sacrifice always involves giving up something. My sweet hubby gave up his need for sure-footedness for the love of his family.

      Jesus gave up His life because he so loved the World. Can’t get much better than that!

For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life. John 3:16

What a Weasel! (by Peter A. Black)

That derogatory phrase, “What a weasel!” has sounded in my ears numerous times. I don’t recall it ever being addressed to me directly, but probably someone has either done so or wanted to. Confession time: I likely haven’t called someone a weasel, but I’m sure it’s crossed my mind.

Negative name-calling isn’t an admirable trait, but imagine a Canadian couple naming their baby daughter Weasel! Ninety years ago a Canadian couple did just that – well, sort of. They gave her the biblical name Huldah, from the Old Testament. Perhaps they didn’t check out the Hebrew root meaning and association of the name, but admired the faithful prophetess Huldah, who helped guide her people and the young king, Josiah.

Let me share a little about this Canadian Huldah (sometimes spelled Hulda). Almost forty years ago I first heard about her and her late husband, Dr. Mark Buntain, and their work in India. They sailed there with their infant daughter in 1954, with a love burning in their hearts for India’s poverty-stricken, sick and suffering people. In time they launched Calcutta Mission of Mercy, and became well-acquainted with Mother Teresa.

Their mission provided food and education, medical aid and hope to the poor. Mark died in 1989, yet with her daughter Bonnie, Huldah – now at the age of ninety – continues to head up this tremendous work, involving hundreds of workers at a variety of levels.*

The following statistics by now will have been superseded: “Together [the Buntains] established a holistic inner-city outreach consisting of more than 100 schools, over 700 churches, a daily feeding program for 25,000, and a full general hospital that has treated 2.2 million people and provided free care to 880,000.”* And there’s much more.


Huldah Buntain. Courtesy: Impact Asia:

I learned from my colleague, Rev. Tim Gibb, lead pastor of Bethel Church, Sarnia, Ontario, that the intrepid Huldah was recently a guest speaker there, and inspired the congregation with her life and message. 

A paragraph he shared from her presentation resonated in my heart. First though, I should say that the lyrics of the hymn, When I Survey the Wondrous Cross,** became a constant companion and theme, playing over again and again in my heart and mind during my Lenten journey this year – especially the last verse.

Tim tells of when Mrs. Buntain’s husband’s body was being lowered into the grave in Calcutta, in 1989, she thought . . . I have given thirty-five years in service to the Lord in this place. Perhaps my time here is done.

A choir was singing and began that final verse: Were the whole realm of nature mine, That were a present far too small . . . And as they sang the final lines, the words reached down into the depths of her spirit: Love so amazing, so divine, Demands my soul, my life, my all.

Tim remarks that she’s still going strong, helping the people in that city.

Truly a gaze-raiser!



Credit:english4U2.info

In our culture, calling someone a weasel denotes the idea of a sneaky individual who can’t be trusted. Yet, the related Hebrew word from which Huldah’s name is derived bears the ideas of sleek and swift; weasels certainly are. They're typically fearless, tenacious fighters, considering their small size. This is true of this woman.

Huldah Buntain responded swiftly to the call of God in her youth. And then as a senior, standing by her husband’s open grave, she responded without hesitation to the renewed call that came to her heart.

My being reminded of her at the conclusion of Lent, prior to Good Friday and Easter (Resurrection Sunday), brought me – also in my senior years – a resonating, confirming sense of divine call. The words that gripped her heart have gripped mine, too.

~~+~~

*Impact Asia website. Accessed March 30, 2015. Compiled also from several sources and information I recalled from many years ago.

** Isaac Watts P.D.

~~~

The above post was adapted from a draft prepared for Peter's weekly column, P-Pep! to be published in The Guide-Advocate, April 9, 2015. 

Peter's second book is a compilation of inspirational articles from his weekly column—on a variety of themes. These are interspersed with brief expressions intended to encourage.  Ebook edition is now available on Amazon.

 

ISBN: 978-0-9920074-2-3 (Angel Hope Publishing)

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A GLORIOUS SPLASH OF TIME-by Heidi McLaughlin

                                                                        

An unrelenting knot in my stomach signals the beginning of my Easter week. My emotions become tender and anxious because Good Friday is approaching-again. 

This tension started ten years ago on a Good Friday, when I heard the whispered, gut wrenching words, “Were you there when they nailed Him to the tree?”  In that divine, hushed moment I became that mother gazing upon her own son hanging on a cross. I tried to envision my son in that scene-Donovan, the apple of my eye, with his wistful lopsided grin and dimples. The one who makes me double over in laughter, creates gourmet recipes, shops with me, and makes my buttons burst with pride.  My whole life has been devoted to nurturing, loving and protecting him.

So I am overcome with emotion when I place myself in that moment in time, where Mary stands, looking up at her son’s bloody, nail pierced hands as He hung upon the cross. To a mother, her son is always her cherished boy. We never forget the soft, warm cuddles, or long nights watching him toss with fever. How do we fathom being a mother who raises a son knowing he is appointed to die? How do we fathom the Son, freely giving himself for the world? That is what we have to grapple with-knowing Jesus has such a radical love, it disrupts our world.

 Just before Jesus went to the cross He had an intensely intimate conversation with His Heavenly Father. He said, “I have given them the glory you gave me-the glorious unity of being one, as we are” John 17:22(TLB).  It is unmistakably clear; Jesus was leaving you and me to continue on this radical mission to wash out a dark world full of selfishness, confusion and hatred with His Glory-a reflection of His essence-Love.

 It is glaringly obvious. I have this moment in history-a Glorious splash of time-to reflect God’s glory.  Most moments in time I don’t feel one bit glorious. As I tap my fingers in traffic or look at my watch in cashier lines, I know I cannot muster up any glory.  But Glory comes from the one who died for me, the Lord, whose spirit splashes through me. If I stop myself in the moment, wherever I am, I know that Spirit lovingly spills into me.

 My knot finally dissipates on Easter Sunday. My eyes shift from the excruciating horror of the cross to the magnificent beauty of a love beyond reason. I move from emotion to mission.  I have been asked to disrupt the darkness of this world with the Glory of this radical love. I am ready.

 “And we, who with unveiled faces all reflect the Lord’s glory, are being transformed into his likeness with ever-increasing glory, which comes from the Lord, who is the spirit” (2 Cor. 3:18b NIV).

 How do we reflect God’s glory?

1.         Realize that God has given us this Glorious Splash of Time to reflect His Glory.

2.         Seek to know God’s love.

3.         Keep a pure heart – forgive freely.

4.         Ask the Holy Spirit to be the Glory in us.

Heidi McLaughlin lives in the beautiful vineyards of the Okanagan Valley in Kelowna, British Columbia. She is married to Pastor Jack and they have a wonderful, eclectic blended family of 5 children and 9 grandchildren. When Heidi is not working, she loves to curl up with a great book, or golf and laugh with her husband and special friends. You can reach her at: www.heartconnection.ca

   

Under the Cross - M. Laycock

I stepped into my Jr. High Sunday School class and studied the wall. I team-teach so often when it’s my turn there are new and surprising things that have been put up in my absence. This time the effect was startling.

A large portion of the wall was covered with newspaper clippings. They were the kind I often skip after reading the headlines. Titles like, Child Pornographer Caught; Rape Victim Testifies; Stabbing Shocks Quiet Town. Disturbing words. Disturbing images. Then I noticed there was a large piece of paper spread over the top. It bore one small word that encapsulated all the headlines. The word was ‘Sin.’

And there was something even larger layered on top of it all – the shape of a large cross.

As I said, the effect was startling. I’ve known since I first became a Christian that Jesus took my sins away by giving his life on the cross, but somehow seeing the words and images on that wall brought it home and impress it upon my mind and heart. I was struck once again by the magnitude of what he did when he took the sin of the world upon his shoulders.

“God made him who had no sin to be sin for us, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God.” (2 Corinthians 5:21).

As I peered at the wall I thought of what it means to all of us, that such sins could be forgiven. I am a firm believer in justice but I am tremendously thankful that our God is a person of mercy. Without his mercy none of us could find peace and wholeness in our lives; none of us could hope for the blessings of heaven and eternal life. But because of his mercy the moment we accept his sacrifice, acknowledge our sin and proclaim Jesus as our saviour, we are free – free to own life as it was intended to be, and to welcome death as a portal into His presence.

There are a lot of sins buried under the image of the cross. There are a lot of sins yet to be transferred there. Where do your sins lie?

The Sacrifice of Praise - Grove

We bring the sacrifice of praise
Unto the house of the Lord.
We bring the sacrifice of praise
Unto the house of the Lord.
And we offer up to You
The sacrifices of thanksgiving;
And we offer up to You
The sacrifices of joy.

- Kirk Dearman

I’ve sung this song in church. Maybe you have, too. Many moons ago – back in the day, as they say.

Yesterday, the moment I awoke, God spoke to me. “What is the sacrifice of praise?”

Oh man, pop quiz and I haven’t even had my coffee yet.

Okay – sacrifice, Old T time (Yes, I know there is a reference to continually offering the sacrifice of praise to God in the NT – Hebrews 13:15, but Hebrews is a book deeply steeped in OT and the word would have the same connotations if not the same actions).

I sat up, feeling awake. I know how these things go. God brings something to my mind, often in the form of a question (I like questions), and I get to experience grace as He shows me something “new” about the question at hand. (It’s not new to Him, but only to my small mind).

Okay, Lord. Sacrifice. I’m thinking animals, temple, maybe long line ups, waiting. Patience.

Good. Now back up.

Uh, okay. Backing up. Well, a fellow would have to organize his family, maybe travel. Planning.
Good. Now back up.

Hmm. Well, a fellow would have to raise the animals, I suppose. A perfect animal, without spot or blemish. Or the first fruits of the harvest. He’d be working at it for some time – a year? And then would offer it to You in faith, regardless of how well his business, farm, family, crops, or life had gone that year. Perseverance.

Hey! That’s three “P’s,” I think, quite pleased with my alliteration.

We’re quiet for a moment, God and I, just hanging out, thinking, waiting.

I know He’s showing me something, and I’ve learned to wait.

Then my penny drops.

It’s me.

I’m the sacrifice of praise. The sacrifice of joy, of thanksgiving.

It’s the life I live, the words I speak, the meditations of my heart. It’s what I write, what I allow myself to think about. It’s how I love my family, treat strangers, promote my books, speak out, hold hands, call someone I haven’t seen in church for a few weeks, invite a friend, volunteer, make life a little nicer for someone else. Lifestyle.

I smile. “You’re not asking much, Lord. Just all of me.”

Bonnie Grove
www.bonniegrove.com
www.fictionmatters.blogspot.com