by Erin James-Brown

As I endeavor to discover more about the last moments of Christ’s life on earth, I am struck with awe and sensitivity at the raw emotions expressed in scripture.  During a dark and sleepy moment – a very human moment – Jesus asks for God to remove the burden of death from him.  I realize, at that moment, Jesus shows signs of fear: fear of pain, death or abuse.  The emotion is real and one with which I can identify.  Yet he finishes his prayer, “Not what I want but what you want.”  The full surrender of life, even unto death, for the sake of God’s will.

My life is not as complex in comparison. I realize I’m “living the dream” as an educated woman, young and free.  However, I do know the realities of fear.  And I do witness the fear of others.  Therefore, as I take the time to reflect on my sin, the price paid and the willingness of Christ, I also reflect on my action in the world and willingness to do the will of the God whom I so love and so loves me.

by Erin James-Brown

“The Journey”
by Mary Oliver
One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice –
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
“Mend my life!”
each voice cried.
But you didn’t stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do –
determined to save
the only life you could save.

In the midst of Lent I find myself surrounded by temptations, the tugs as my ankles, and I sometimes feel so overwhelmed by their cries.  But as I continue on my Lenten fast, walking forward, remembering Jesus, sometimes I stoop because I am too tired, sometimes I reach out for rock or tree to steady by balance.  But I keep pushing forward until the voices grow faint.  As we push through our temptations, or find other practices of spiritual discipline, whether they are simple or complex, our Lenten season becomes a time of deep reflection on Christ.  There are those things that wish to distract us, but with courage and humbled persistence, we work to become more devoted to God.

But can we stretch this poem even further?  Are we only able to save ourselves?  Are we even able to save ourselves?  Or does the poem simply mean, after we have stripped away the sin that so easily entangles us, are we then truly ourselves?  Then we are saved.

What do you think?

photo credit

Psalm 130

Out of the depths I cry to you, O LORD.

Lord, hear my voice! Let your ears be attentive to the voice of my supplications!

If you, O LORD, should mark iniquities, Lord, who could stand?

But there is forgiveness with you, so that you may be revered.

I wait for the LORD, my soul waits, and in his word I hope;

my soul waits for the Lord more than those who watch for the morning, more than those who watch for the morning.

O Israel, hope in the LORD! For with the LORD there is steadfast love, and with him is great power to redeem.

It is he who will redeem Israel from all its iniquities.

There cannot be hope without a little bit of fear.  Fear comes from the unknown.  Fear that grows out of the unknown is the inevitable outcome of our hopes and dreams.  However, if we allow it our fear to become the monster that overtakes our hopes, we no longer live with expectation of the future but are pummeled by our fear of the unknown.  As we wander in the wilderness,  a desperate question arises, “What if we never reach the end?”  Step after small step seems to lead us nowhere closer to the edge.  But we have hope.  As believers in Christ we know that the Lenten season does not end with death on a cross but triumphs with the resurrection of Christ.  While we walk through this season of spiritual waiting, wandering and searching for the God’s guidance, we do not trudge through the wilderness twisting our head and gasping at every turn or unsettling noise.  We carefully step through the brush hoping to find that Easter morning has come again and we are redeemed by God through God’s steadfast love.

I recently got married.  In my fancy dress, as I walked down the aisle to meet my husband, I was followed by my mother and father.  After much deliberation, I decided to have both parents escort me down in the aisle to symbolize their importance in my life.  My mother and father divorced when I was fourteen, however, both of their relationships have greatly influenced my life.  Although our relationships have changed over the years, without their involvement, I would not be the person I am today.  But there were also people marching down the aisle behind my parents you could not see.  My mentor Becca, the woman who opened her home to me and mentored me in high school, was there.  My grandfather, who passed away when I was young, was there.  My Southern Baptist pastor from high school was there.  My Sunday school teachers, theatre teachers, friends and partners were all present with me as I glowingly approached my future husband.

When you get married, as I am learning, your life doesn’t start over anew.  Although there are lots of transitions and different experiences, you are essentially the same person.  You bring your history, the good, the bad and the interesting into the relationship with you.  Because you are a mosaic person, you are made up of several important moments that make up the beautiful picture of you.

Much like a mosaic person, our congregation is made up of different individuals as well.  As we gather together on a Sunday morning, or any other time throughout the week, each of us brings a different set of influences we were raised with, different experiences that make us knowledgeable, and different gifts that contribute to the community.  A room filled with different personalities and opinions can become stuffy, jumbled and loud.  However, as a group of fellow believers considering the life and death of Jesus Christ and celebrating his resurrection, a room filled with Christians from different denominational backgrounds, opinions and spiritual gifts can also be a beautiful depiction of God’s image in the world.

Throughout this Lenten season, our goal is not just to avoid cookies, meat or soda as our spiritual sacrifice.   Our goal is also to gather together, form a commitment to live in community with one another as we are called by the Holy Spirit, in order to be the presence of the divine in the world around us.  By doing so, we depict a creative presentation of the God we serve.  We are a mosaic of people.  With shadows, highlights and color schemes.  Each person of the portrait is vital to the integrity of the piece and evokes a more poignant experience for viewing the work of art.

Lately, my mind has been consumed by thoughts about my skin. I know that’s weird, but let me try to explain. I have been thinking about what it means for me to be a creature that has skin, muscles, blood and bones, all of which are necessary for life but will also eventually die. I am especially reminded of my skin and my fleshly existence during the Lenten season, as we are told when administered the ashes on Ash Wednesday that it is from dust we are made and to dust we shall return (cf. Genesis 3:19). The Lenten season, in fact, is supposed to remind me of my fleshly existence. By giving up something that sustains my flesh (e.g. meat), I am reminded that I am human, not God.

I have a problem with this though. My issue is not with Lent exactly, but with the way folks tend to think about their skin as a result of their Lent experience. Typically, I have noticed that people tend to think negatively about their flesh as a result of Lent. Our experience of fasting, which often demonstrates just how weak and dependent we are in our bodies, leads us to realize just how far we are from God. That is, people often come to the conclusion that it is our flesh, our skin, which separates us from God. From there, it is not a far stretch to label the flesh as bad and to instill a perpetual negative Christian attitude about our flesh. I fear that such a way of interpreting Lent, however, leaves people in despair as they become consumed with their separation from God because of the skin they wear.

I want to think that there is something else that Lent is trying teach us about our skin and about existence as humans in relation to God. After all, isn’t the event that Lent anticipates, Easter, a celebration of God’s own putting on skin (a.k.a. incarnation) and sharing in our human experience? Indeed, God chose to become human so that a relationship with God for humans would be possible. God put on skin, which included paying the price of human garb, death, so that we might participate in God’s future. Rather than separating me from God, then, my skin, my humanness, is what in fact connects me to God. My relationship with God is possible only because of the skin I wear. Not only does my flesh connect me to God, but it also connects me to other people. Wearing my skin is not a solitary practice but one that brings me into communion with other embodied souls. It is what we have most in common with one another. My skin connects me to God and to my neighbor.

Perhaps this could be something that Lent is trying to teach us—that our skin, though diseased and dying, is what God has chosen as the conduit to bring divine love to earth. Rather than despair about my body this Lenten season, which I realize is breaking down more with each new day, I am choosing to thank God for the skin that connects me to God and others. I leave with you with this hymn/poem I ran across the other day.

Good is the flesh that the Word has become,

good is the birthing, the milk in the breast,

good is the feeding, caressing and rest,

good is the body for knowing the world.

Good is the flesh the Word has become.

Good is the body for knowing the world,

sensing the sunlight, the tug of the ground,

feeling, perceiving, within and around,

good is the body from cradle to grave.

Good is the flesh that the Word has become.

Good is the body from cradle to grave,

growing and ageing, arousing, impaired,

happy in clothing or lovingly bared,

good is the pleasure of God in our flesh.

Good is the flesh that the Word has become.

Good is the pleasure of God in our flesh,

longing in all, as in Jesus, to dwell,

glad of embracing, and tasting, and smell,

good is the body, for good and for God.

Good is the flesh that the Word has become.

John of Damascus
3rd century

Melito of Sardis, second century pastor and theologian

As we think about the Season of Lent and the image of communion, I
found some images I thought I would share with the community.  The
word communion means a sharing or exchanging of intimate feelings.
How appropriate to share something so intimate for myself with the
rest of the Crosspoint community!  These images are expressions of
different people’s interactions with God through artwork.  They
display idea of communion, the Last Supper, and the pouring out of
Christ blood and body.  As I view them I try to get inside the mind of
the artist.  What was he/she thinking during the creative process?
What images did he/she make most prominent?  I also try to feel how
the image reflects in my own life.  What piece in the picture moves
me?  How do I see God in creative acts of worship?  I live in the
tension of the artist and patron.  I also try to find a different
perspective of God I have never witnessed before in art.

Luke 22:7-22
Then came the day of Unleavened Bread on which the Passover lamb had
to be sacrificed. 8Jesus sent Peter and John, saying, “Go and make
preparations for us to eat the Passover.”
“Where do you want us to prepare for it?” they asked.
He replied, “As you enter the city, a man carrying a jar of water will
meet you. Follow him to the house that he enters, and say to the owner
of the house, ‘The Teacher asks: Where is the guest room, where I may
eat the Passover with my disciples?’ He will show you a large upper
room, all furnished. Make preparations there.”
They left and found things just as Jesus had told them. So they
prepared the Passover.
When the hour came, Jesus and his apostles reclined at the table. And
he said to them, “I have eagerly desired to eat this Passover with you
before I suffer. For I tell you, I will not eat it again until it
finds fulfillment in the kingdom of God.”  After taking the cup, he
gave thanks and said, “Take this and divide it among you. For I tell
you I will not drink again of the fruit of the vine until the kingdom
of God comes.” And he took bread, gave thanks and broke it, and gave
it to them, saying, “This is my body given for you; do this in
remembrance of me.”
In the same way, after the supper he took the cup, saying, “This cup
is the new covenant in my blood, which is poured out for you. But the
hand of him who is going to betray me is with mine on the table. The
Son of Man will go as it has been decreed, but woe to that man who
betrays him.”

Submitted by Erin James, Pastoral Intern, Crosspoint Fellowship