Today is Easter. I like to think of this as "Christian New Year" -- the first Easter, when the first followers first discovered Jesus' tomb was empty was the first day in a new chapter in a bigger story than any of us can imagine; a story worth living in.
For many people, Jesus-Followers or not, it is also a wonderful feast day, filled with chocolate and other candy, eggs and treats of all sorts; and families gathering to share a meal. Winn Griffin shared this today and I thought it was worth passing along:
"There are eight meal scenes in the story of Luke. The seventh one was what we traditionally call the Last Supper. The eighth one was on the day of resurrection with the husband and wife that Jesus met on the Road to Emmaus.
Think of the first meal in the Garden. The moment is heavy with significance. “The woman took some of the fruit, and ate it, she gave it to her husband, and he ate it; then the eyes of the both were opened, and they knew that they were naked (Gen 3.6-7). This first meal of the new creation was celebrated with a male and female. One shouldn’t pass to quickly by in the reading of the Luke 24 text without noticing the echoes of the first meal in the Garden. Describing the first meal of the new creation, Luke says, “He took the bread, blessed it, broke it, and gave it to them, then the eyes of them both were opened, and they recognized him” (Luke 24.31).
The first couple’s eyes were opened and they saw themselves naked. At the beginning of the new creation, this couple’s eyes were opened and they recognized Jesus. They recognized him in the breaking of the bread.
If you have an opportunity to receive communion as you celebrate the Resurrection, the beginning of the new creation in this present evil age, do so and let your eyes be opened to all the new creation in Jesus offers. It’s a story worth living in."
A story worth living in, indeed.
And I wonder, in the final chapter, what that first meal will be like in the New Orchard when we all gather with eternally-opened eyes and share together in the celebration feast? I'm hungry!
Happy Easter everyone...may all your best hungers be satisfied today and in this new year.
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Sunday, March 28, 2010
The Donkey was a Comma
Today is "Palm Sunday" -- the Sunday before Easter when Christians traditionally celebrate Jesus' "Triumphal entry" into Jerusalem -- the "City of Peace".
His entry is called "triumphal" because the crowds lay their cloaks and palm branches at his feet, or rather the feet of the donkey he rode. In the culture of that day this gesture was a sign that they were recognizing him as king. They were shouting "Hosanna!" which means "Save us!" and yet in this context it was more like "Hurray! You're here to save us!!!". They were also shouting about Jesus being "Son of David" (their last great military king) and "Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord." Essentially they were saying "You da man!!!! You're the ambassador -- the personal representative -- of God himself, and you're here to take over the place and then YOU will rule over us instead of us being ruled by these oppressive Romans or all the other people groups that have kept us down! Thank you! You rock!"
But they missed something. Just. Didn't. See it.
It's like punctuation. There's a big difference between:
The donkey was a comma, and the people missed it. That one little crucial detail turned the whole thing around. And they Just. Didn't. See it.
Because they didn't want to. The donkey was a symbol of lowliness, humility. A triumphant king entering a city he had just conquered would have ridden the biggest strongest most impressive stallion in his stables.
Jesus rode a borrowed donkey.
Jesus wasn't conquering anything with military might or power. He was coming in peace, riding a symbol of humility. He let the people say what they were saying because it was right and true -- they just didn't see the whole picture -- didn't understand the sense of timing.
Less than a week later that same crowd would be angry -- likely feeling like the victims of some great cosmic bait & switch. The same crowds that shouted "Hosanna!" would be shouting "CRUCIFY HIM!!!" I wonder if the ones who were really gung-ho about staging a military coup (they called themselves "Zealots") went out and killed the donkey?
Today is Palm Sunday. Jesus is still riding a borrowed donkey as he enters my town of Salem, OR (a city called Peace). Will I let myself see the donkey?
I wonder how much I miss today when I look at Jesus riding into my life? What do I not see because I don't want to see it? What are my expectations on him? What do I shout when I first see him? What do I shout later this week when my expectations aren't realized, and I'm left to face the truth that he was on a donkey the whole time?
His entry is called "triumphal" because the crowds lay their cloaks and palm branches at his feet, or rather the feet of the donkey he rode. In the culture of that day this gesture was a sign that they were recognizing him as king. They were shouting "Hosanna!" which means "Save us!" and yet in this context it was more like "Hurray! You're here to save us!!!". They were also shouting about Jesus being "Son of David" (their last great military king) and "Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord." Essentially they were saying "You da man!!!! You're the ambassador -- the personal representative -- of God himself, and you're here to take over the place and then YOU will rule over us instead of us being ruled by these oppressive Romans or all the other people groups that have kept us down! Thank you! You rock!"
But they missed something. Just. Didn't. See it.
It's like punctuation. There's a big difference between:
"How are you my friend?"and
"How are you, my friend?"That one little comma makes a huge difference in the meaning of the phrase being communicated.
The donkey was a comma, and the people missed it. That one little crucial detail turned the whole thing around. And they Just. Didn't. See it.
Because they didn't want to. The donkey was a symbol of lowliness, humility. A triumphant king entering a city he had just conquered would have ridden the biggest strongest most impressive stallion in his stables.
Jesus rode a borrowed donkey.
Jesus wasn't conquering anything with military might or power. He was coming in peace, riding a symbol of humility. He let the people say what they were saying because it was right and true -- they just didn't see the whole picture -- didn't understand the sense of timing.
Less than a week later that same crowd would be angry -- likely feeling like the victims of some great cosmic bait & switch. The same crowds that shouted "Hosanna!" would be shouting "CRUCIFY HIM!!!" I wonder if the ones who were really gung-ho about staging a military coup (they called themselves "Zealots") went out and killed the donkey?
Today is Palm Sunday. Jesus is still riding a borrowed donkey as he enters my town of Salem, OR (a city called Peace). Will I let myself see the donkey?
I wonder how much I miss today when I look at Jesus riding into my life? What do I not see because I don't want to see it? What are my expectations on him? What do I shout when I first see him? What do I shout later this week when my expectations aren't realized, and I'm left to face the truth that he was on a donkey the whole time?
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Lenten Feasting and Fasting
This is from the Friday morning eucharistic ceremony @ Mount Calvary (courtesy of our good friend Fran -- blessings on your head!)
Lenten Feasting and Fasting:
Lent is more than a time of fasting;
it can also be a joyous season of feasting.
it can also be a joyous season of feasting.
Lent is a time to fast from certain things,
and to feast on others.
and to feast on others.
Fast from judging others
Feast on the Christ dwelling in them
Fast from emphasis on differencesFeast on the unity of life
Fast from apparent darknessFeast on the reality of light
Fast from thoughts of illness
Feast on the healing power of God
Fast from words that polluteFeast on words of purity
Fast from discontentFeast on gratitude
Fast from anger
Feast on patience
Fast from pessimismFeast on optimism
Fast from worryFeast on Divine Providence
Fast from complaining
Feast on appreciation
Fast from negativesFeast on affirmatives
Fast from unrelenting pressuresFeast on unceasing prayer
Fast from hostility
Feast on peace
Fast from bitternessFeast on forgiveness
Fast from self-concernFeast on compassion for others
Fast from personal anxiety
Feast on trust
Fast from discouragementFeast on hope
Fast from acts that tear downFeast on acts which build up
Fast from thoughts that weaken
Feast on promises that inspire
Fast from idle gossipFeast on purposeful silence
Fast from problems which overwhelmFeast on prayer that undergirds
Saturday, October 10, 2009
What Kind of Fruit Will We Bear
This is the question we are asking ourselves these days.If a peach tree is planted in Georgia, the peaches will taste somewhat different than if that same tree is planted in California. The soil and the air, and the trace minerals in the water, all will contribute to the unique taste of the fruit.
But is is still a peach.
We believe there may be a variety of fruits we bear over the months of each year.
So as we look to The Orchard Master, we are wondering how our context will influence our "taste", but on a deeper level we are wondering "What kind of fruit will we bear in this current Autumn season?"
How about you?
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Saturday, August 15, 2009
New Sprouts
Cate!
Cate & Grandma
Cate & Great Grandpa
Cate & Grandma
Dedicating Cate
Hanging out with family!
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Time To Stop
Today is the Summer Solstice -- literally "Sun Stands Still". The following is unashamedly cut/pasted from Inward/Outward
By Barbara Brown Taylor
For years I had kept hoping that intimacy with God would blossom as soon as I got everything done, got everyone settled, got my environment just right and my calendar cleared. I counted on it to come as a reward for how hard I had worked, or at least as the built-in consequence of a life of service, but even when I managed to meet all of my conditions for a day or two, I was so exhausted from the effort that I could not keep my eyes open. Slumber spirituality took over, and when I woke up I was right back where I started with miles to go toward the home I never quite reached.
Soon after I moved to the country, a friend from the city set out to see me and got seriously lost. These were the days before cell phones, so she was on her own with nothing but my directions and a badly out-of-date map. Already an hour later than she wanted to be, she was speeding through a little town when she saw the blue lights in her rearview mirror.
I forgot to warn her that it was a speed trap. Busted, she pulled over on the shoulder of the road and had her license ready when the officer arrived at her window.
“I am so sorry,” she said, handing it to him along with her registration. “I know I was speeding, but I’ve been lost for the last forty minutes and I cannot find Tower Terrace anywhere on this map.”
“Well, I’m sorry about that too, ma’am,” he said, writing up her citation, “but what made you think that hurrying would help you find your way?”
But even that points to a larger and more enduring human problem, which is the problem of mortality. With a limited number of years to do whatever it is that we are supposed to be doing here, who has time to stop?
Barbara Brown Taylor is a writer and teacher at Piedmont College in Georgia. She was ordained an Episcopal priest and writes about the life of the church—and the church of life. This excerpt is from her book called Leaving Church: A Memoir of Faith.
I think the real question is not "How can I afford to take time to stop?" but instead "If The Master has ordained the sun two times every year to stand still, how can I afford not to follow the example set in the heavens for all to see?"
By Barbara Brown Taylor
For years I had kept hoping that intimacy with God would blossom as soon as I got everything done, got everyone settled, got my environment just right and my calendar cleared. I counted on it to come as a reward for how hard I had worked, or at least as the built-in consequence of a life of service, but even when I managed to meet all of my conditions for a day or two, I was so exhausted from the effort that I could not keep my eyes open. Slumber spirituality took over, and when I woke up I was right back where I started with miles to go toward the home I never quite reached.
Soon after I moved to the country, a friend from the city set out to see me and got seriously lost. These were the days before cell phones, so she was on her own with nothing but my directions and a badly out-of-date map. Already an hour later than she wanted to be, she was speeding through a little town when she saw the blue lights in her rearview mirror.
I forgot to warn her that it was a speed trap. Busted, she pulled over on the shoulder of the road and had her license ready when the officer arrived at her window.“I am so sorry,” she said, handing it to him along with her registration. “I know I was speeding, but I’ve been lost for the last forty minutes and I cannot find Tower Terrace anywhere on this map.”
“Well, I’m sorry about that too, ma’am,” he said, writing up her citation, “but what made you think that hurrying would help you find your way?”
What made any of us think that the place we are trying to reach is far, far ahead of us somewhere and that the only way to get there is to run until we drop? For Christians, at least part of the answer is that many of us have been taught to think of God’s kingdom as something outside ourselves, for which we must search as a merchant searches for the pearl of great price.what made you think that
hurrying
would help you
find your way?
But even that points to a larger and more enduring human problem, which is the problem of mortality. With a limited number of years to do whatever it is that we are supposed to be doing here, who has time to stop?
Barbara Brown Taylor is a writer and teacher at Piedmont College in Georgia. She was ordained an Episcopal priest and writes about the life of the church—and the church of life. This excerpt is from her book called Leaving Church: A Memoir of Faith.
I think the real question is not "How can I afford to take time to stop?" but instead "If The Master has ordained the sun two times every year to stand still, how can I afford not to follow the example set in the heavens for all to see?"
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