Tag Archives: lent

Halfway

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I was halfway through writing another post about labyrinths, trying to explain what it is that I have planned for Holy Week at the Cathedral, but words were not coming to me and the words which were coming were not doing it justice.

And then I read this article, shared by a friend, and I was wondering if what I am working on is worth it? Not entirely, because I am still going to go ahead with the plan. But the article makes a good point. Why make such a fuss over Easter services and activities? Why not have good church throughout the year rather than just Christmas and Easter? I don’t know. Because it is too much energy? Too much to do? Or do we think that people might just not be interested? I’ll ponder these thoughts and more as I sleep.

My Evening With Bruce

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I went to see Bruce Cockburn last night, live at the McPherson Theatre in Victoria. It would not be an understatement to suggest that it was one of the better concerts I have been to… but then I probably say that after every good concert I attend. I also had a fantastic seat: front row directly infront of Bruce. This photo was shot on my phone from my lap.

Not only is Bruce a phenomenal musician and guitar player, there is something about his ability to craft lyrics that is always profound and thought-provoking. It was an incredible experience to be able to sit and hear him sing them live. He performed a mix of songs off of his new album (to which I have not yet listened) and old favourites. Some of the favourites (how does one pick a set list from a repertoire as long and as deep as his?) were ones I had hoped he would play (Pacing the Cage comes to mind) and others were songs I had forgotten I loved. One of the classics I was struck by all over again as I remembered its beauty was Strange Waters.

I’ve seen a high cairn kissed by holy wind
Seen a mirror pool cut by golden fins
Seen alleys where they hide the truth of cities
The mad whose blessing you must accept without pity

I’ve stood in airports guarded glass and chrome
Walked rifled roads and landmined loam
Seen a forest in flames right down to the road
Burned in love till I’ve seen my heart explode

You’ve been leading me
Beside strange waters

Across the concrete fields of man
Sun ray like a camera pans
Some will run and some will stand
Everything is bullshit but the open hand

You’ve been leading me
Beside strange waters
Streams of beautiful lights in the night
But where is my pastureland in these dark valleys?
If I loose my grip, will I take flight?

Every time I read or listen to these lyrics, something different jumps out. I think that the first thing that grabbed me last evening was the phrase “You’ve been leading me beside strange waters.” The reference to Psalm 23 is unmistakable, however instead of the “still waters” of the psalmist, we have “strange” waters. Strange seems more accurate to life, certainly to life right now.

Two other lines that jumped out to me last night, and continue to do so today, are in the first verse: [I’ve] Seen alleys where they hide the truth of cities / The mad whose blessing you must accept without pity. Part of their impact is a recollection of my time in China. As we walked down a backstreet near the river in Xining, my Chinese language partner turned to me and said, “If you were here with a party member on an official visit, you would not be allowed to come here.” It was a mud-track road with tumbling down brick building on either side. The cavernous doors opened into dark, dank mud floored “houses” where chickens ran around freely and large families squeezed into a single room. Yet this is where a large number of people lived. And the government was trying to take it from them: pushing them to goodness-knows-where so that their houses could be bulldozed and tall apartment blocks put in their place.

The next place my thoughts went was to some of the ideas I am pondering as I reflect on church’s stated mission of being the “Cathedral to the City” and what this entails. It is something I am trying to incorporate into my Holy Week meditations and has therefore been on my mind a lot lately. What does it mean to be the Cathedral to the City? Part of that is being aware of those around us and working to integrate our worlds: our guest preacher last week called it being an “indigenous church.” In our part of the city, we are faced with both the beautiful but expensive houses and the people who have no other choice but to pull a tattered blanket over themselves as they lie in the doorway of a closed shop. The latter are the truths that the city would rather hide. They are the truths that we must confront if we are to live an engaged life within our community. Some of these individuals are indeed the mad whose blessing must be accepted without pity.

How then do we practice this engagement? I have no answers. It is much easier to ask questions than to actively search oneself, find answers, and make changes… or even find a path to what might eventually become an answer. I hope, through the process of reflection as I prepare for Holy Week, to begin to step onto that path and invite others to walk with me.

40 Days

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Wednesdays are a crazy day in my world, especially yesterday Wednesday.

The cycle downtown from work to choir practice freaked me out yesterday. Four drivers who weren’t looking for bicycles nearly hit me. It is only a 7.5km ride, and it isn’t like I’m an obnoxious rider, yet these drivers managed to nearly hit me. Yes, I go quickly, but I obey traffic rules and try to be visible when I ride: I have multiple front and rear lights, wear a turquoise reflective jacket, have white bicycle and orange backpack. It isn’t like I blend into the road. Sadly though, this wasn’t the first time cars haven’t been paying attention to me and I’ve had near-misses before (weekly?). For a city that prides itself on having one of the highest amounts of bicycle commuters per capita in the country, there are a lot of drivers who are not paying attention to us. I guess that is what made the statement of Ash Wednesday even more poignant: “Remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return“. We’re all just one event away from that dust.

We got some new choir music in rehearsal last evening. It was new liturgical music for the season of Lent that I’m excited to sing… altos have some wonderful parts and they are all nice and low and minor sounding. One of them, from the Iona Community, asks a simple question: O brother Jesus, where have we left you, Saviour and Lover of all? Where indeed? That line reached out and grabbed me as we sang it.

Lent is probably my favourite season of the church calendar. I like the expectation and anticipation of Advent but often find myself frustrated by the gross commercialism and crazy busy-ness of Christmas that envelops and overwhelms it. Lent on the other hand, often gets overlooked. Aside from pancakes on Shrove Tuesday and the constant question, “What are you giving up for Lent?”, the beginning of this season often goes unnoticed.

Which brings me back to our Lenten liturgical music: O brother Jesus, where have we left you? Am I giving something up for Lent? I am not sure yet. I’ll allow myself until the weekend to decide. On the other hand, I would much rather that I find Jesus during Lent. Find Jesus. Find God’s heart for the lost and poor and marginalized.

In closing, another song for this Sunday (also Iona Community):

Sent by the Lord am I; my hands are ready now to make the earth the place in which the kingdom comes. The angels cannot change a world of hurt and pain into a world of love, of justice and of peace. The task is mine to do, to set it really free. Oh, help me to obey; help me to do your will.

On the Way to the Cross

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Simon helps Jesus carry his cross (Station III)


As they led him away, they seized a man, Simon of Cyrene, who was coming from the country, ad they laid the cross on him, and made him carry it behind Jesus. Luke 23:26

Consider the things you have in life that weigh you down. Can you let go of them? Write them on a block of wood and place it into the shopping cart.

Almighty God, your Son was not too proud to accept help from a stranger when he was weakened by whipping and scourging; help me to not be too proud to accept help from others when I am weakened by disability, illness, or age; through Jesus Christ your Son our Lord. Amen.

Also remember those for whom the shopping cart is their life and the only means of storing their life.

From our modern retelling of the Stations of the Cross.

The Last Supper

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A story for Maundy Thursday.

It is evening, and you are gathered together with the other disciples in a small room for Passover. All the time you are watching Jesus, while he sits quietly in the shadows listening to the idle chatter, watching over those who sit around him, and, from time to time, telling stories about the kingdom of God.

As night descends, a meal of bread and wine is brought into the room. It is only at this moment that Jesus sits forward so that the shadows no longer cover his face. He quietly brings the conversation to an end by capturing each one with his intense gaze. Then he begins to speak:

“My friends, take this bread, for it is my very body, broken for you.”

Every eye is fixed on the bread that is laid on the table. While these words seem obscure and unintelligible, everyone picks up on their gravity.

Then Jesus carefully pours wine into the cup of each disciple until it overflows onto the table.

“Take this wine and drink it, for it is my very blood, shed for you.”

With these words an ominous shadow seems to descend upon the room — a chilling darkness that makes everyone shudder uneasily. Jesus continues:

“As you do this, remember me.”

Most of the gathered disciples begin to slowly eat the bread and drink the wine, lost in their thoughts. You, however, cannot bring yourself to lift you hand at all, for his words have cut into your soul like a knife.

Jesus does not fail to notice your hesitation and approaches, lifting up your head with his hand so that your eyes are level with his. You eyes meet for only a moment, but before you are able to turn away, you are caught up in a terrifying revelation. At that instant you experience the loneliness, the pain, and the sorrow that Jesus is carrying. You see nails being driven through skin and bone; you hear the crowds jeering and the cries of pain as iron cuts against flesh. At that moment you see the sweat that flows from Jesus like blood, and experience the suffocation, madness, and pain that will soon envelop him. More than all of this, however, you feel a trace of the separation he will soon feel in his own being.

In that little room, which occupies no significant space in the universe, you have caught a glimpse of a divine vision that should never have been disclosed. Yet it is indelibly etched into the eyes of Christ for anyone brave enough to look.

You turn to leave — to run from that place. You long for death to wrap around you. But Jesus grips you with his gaze and smiles compassionately. Then he holds you tight in his arms like no one has held you before. He understands that the weight you now carry is so great that it would have been better had you never been born. After a few moments, he releases his embrace and lifts the wine that sits before you, whispering,

“Take this wine, my dear friend, and drink it up, for it is my very blood, and it is shed for you.”

All this makes you feel painfully uncomfortable, and so you shift in your chair and fumble in your pocket, all the time distracted by the silver that weighs heavy in your pouch.

– from The Orthodox Heretic by Peter Rollins

The Season of Lent: Add More Things

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Why do we, in the church community, see the need to add more to our lives during special seasons? Each Advent and Lent, I get overwhelmed by the multitude of activities available to me to help my spiritual/personal growth. Yet at the same time, we are told that these seasons are supposed to be times of renewal and reflection. Maybe I am alone in this, but I find it hard to reflect and meditate when I am constantly “doing.” Adding more to my life will not give me the increased time I need to have a meaningful contemplative lifestyle. I think that these studies are wonderful, but my real spiritual growth comes out of reflection on God, not endless discussion of some theological truth.

At the same time, these interesting studies seem to only come around during seasons like Advent and Lent, when there are already extra services at church, so it would be a shame not to take advantage of them. (Though this year I am leading a Lenten study at the Cathedral, so I can’t really get around that one.) Wouldn’t it be nice if we had our studies during Ordinary Time so we would be free to reflect and restore ourselves during Lent? Or, wouldn’t it be nice if, instead of an intense study, we had meditation time set aside during Lent. Just a thought.

Jesus and the Five Thousand

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I’m [re]reading Peter Rollins’ The Orthodox Heretic: And other Impossible Tales, a collection of parables, for Lent. I’ve got 40 of them: one for each day. I read this one today. 

Read. Ponder. Reread…

Jesus and the Five Thousand (A First-World Translation)

 Jesus withdrew privately by boat to a solitary place, but the crowds continued to follow him. Evening was now approaching and the people, many of whom had traveled a great distance, were growing hungry.

Seeing this, Jesus sent his disciples out to gather food, but all they could find were five loaves of bread and two fishes. Then Jesus asked that they go out again and gather up the provisions that the crowds had brought to sustain them in their travels. Once this was accomplished, a vast mountain of fish and bread stood before Jesus. Upon seeing this, he directed the people to sit down on the grass.

Standing before the food and looking up to heaven, he gave thanks to God and broke the bread. Then he passed the food among his twelve disciples. Jesus and his friends ate like kings in full view of the starving people. But what was truly amazing, what was miraculous about his meal, was that when they had finished the massive banquet there were not even enough crumbs left to fill a starving person’s hand.

Easter Vigil

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Easter began tonight.

The Easter Vigil Service I just came home from has possibly been my favourite service of Lent/Holy Week/Easter to date. It was a beautiful service. The first half was in darkness: all the lights were off inside of the Cathedral and the Pascal Candle was slowly brought into the nave. Everyone in the congregation had a candle and they were slowly lit from back to front as the cross moved forward. Our choir sang a beautiful song (in which the altos actually had a decent part!), “Holy Darkness” accompanied by the cello. I got chills in my spine.

Suddenly, half way through the service, the organ sounded the Gloria, the lights came on and bells were rung. I was given the drum to pound on (because apparently I am the resident percussionist?!?) and it was Easter!

The readings we read worked through the Old Testament story leading up to Jesus and were a really interesting selection. Then people were baptized and confirmed, we passed the peace and celebrated the Eucharist. I got a kick out of a look on one of the assisting priest’s face when Archbishop Hutchison switched to French halfway through the Eucharistic Prayer. Clearly what is normal in Montreal is somewhat out of the ordinary in Victoria!

Now the stage is set for the Sunrise service tomorrow morning. He is Risen, He is Risen Indeed!