Good Friday Soup

My wife makes delicious soups – the kind that has spoiled the prime consumers, namely me and the kids. When I say spoil I mean that I lose appetite for any other. Would that be labeled as comfort food? Comfort foods carry a risk of feeding only the complacent, those satisfied with the familiar. Today it is Good Friday soup, a vegetarian sort of specialty with caraway and some other spices giving it a gentle unique flavor. Good Friday soup! Period. Enter a slight variation. This year Verna decided (and I agreed) that it would not make sense to cook up this specialty soup alongside some already-created very delicious and amply leftover chicken noodle soup! Also, this Friday noon it would be only the two of us and one of our daughters, who also loves chicken soup!

But it wasn’t Good Friday soup! We are such creatures of habit that I notice it bothered my wife a little bit; she can even start to feel guilty about stuff like this. 😏 All this now gets me thinking – yes my thinker again. It has nothing to do with soup, but … it does. How do we celebrate Good Friday? 

This year again we had a service together with the other churches of our Christian denomination in this city. It was a 'regular' occasion which threw a bit of a curve ball at all of us. After this service we all quietly and clearly knew we had gathered with a difference! The beginning had been as expected - lots of noisy happy hugs and greetings. We like each other and occasional get-togethers warrant lots of warm greetings. On this day, however, unlike previous years when the pianists and/or organists would be hard at it creating the preludes reaching up to high heaven, this time no music; just the noisy greetings.

Then a request for silence. In a simple instructive tone we were informed this would be a time of remembrance; no bulletin with worship order; only brief on-screen graphics and scriptures to lead us along. I was moved by this creativity, at first slightly taken aback by instructs onscreen like “Silence 3 minutes”, but in short order recognized the focused re-enactment of Jesus’ aloneness with a solitary soloist leading us “Were you there?” The suffering, the grief and guilt all occasioned on that day when Jesus died. It was ordered and quiet and choreographed for clarity and focus [Also an important visual to this retired preacher - seemingly good involvement of clergy and congregants of the participating churches]. I was moved by this a seeming promise of new style which will possibly move the church forward. After the scriptures and the silences and the appeal for money from our well known world relief organization, it concluded. We were dismissed with instructions to move quietly out of building, leaving only our offerings with the ushers.😔

Other than these somewhat brusque departure instructions I thought this had been good. Perhaps it's a feature of my creeping age, I really do not need all that foyer noise anyway. I walked out thoughtfully, appreciatively. And then I heard some protestations! What is the purpose of re-enactment? We cannot fully recreate the loneliness of Jesus on that fateful event, so why even try? This is not a movie or a drama. It is Good Friday. Is this not an occasion for prayers and anthems and proclamation? Yes, Good Friday is that, and how can we presume to do that well? Our re-enactments are only haptics at best. We dare not omit worship of Almighty God on this most somber day of the church year. My thinker remembers! I remember also my days of pastoral leadership many years ago; we also tried hard to be theologically correct even while giving believable understandable leadership on these corporate gatherings, and they also followed by critique. Some things do not change!

Back to my Good Friday soup. Like our traditional soup expected on a certain day, so I think it is with the liturgies or the hymns or prayers on certain occasions in certain ways. Some things one needs in order to experience a day the right way. Some things are optional. This was well tested for me during my years of long haul trucking following twenty plus years of service as a pastor. Especially significant/vulnerable to me were those holy occasions of Christmas and Easter. They lived in my faith consciousness as non-negotiables, a soul awareness that never went away. Even with fellow truckers and the traveling public ‘making weekend plans’, etc. I was always aware that for me the real occasion was a faith occasion, not just weekend plans - the founding occasions of my life (John 10:10). If not able to be in assembly (Hebrews 10:25) with brothers and sisters I could spent a whole day clocking up the miles to reach destination, while actually in worship mode, thinking of church services at home or occasionally catching a chapel or church along the way, either of evangelical or ecumenical stripe. Ironically in this frame of mind I would almost always encounter someone – a person of similar mindset, always a good reminder that God has ways of being present with us in any and all circumstances. Chicken noodle soup may serve as well as the Good Friday version.

Special weekends are special only for those in whom the specialness lives. So this year it's a new Good Friday service along with pro and con opinions. I am reminded of the yin yang of life. Given my churchy and my trucker years I know of holy and profane moments in my trucks and I know of them behind pulpits. My Good Friday is not dependent upon services done the way they used to be, nor dependent on new original imaginative modern haptics. 

Within my worship history and my soup preferences, I give thanks that the One who died also came alive in short order, and is available to me still as promised and still so very much needed. It is as Jesus said to his disciples looking ahead to the crucifixion, "I tell you the truth: it is to your advantage that I go away, for if I do not go away, the Counselor will not come to you; but if I go, I will send him to you" (John 16:7 RSV). For Christian believers it is about new life in the name of the One who came among us and became so spectacularly available after resurrection. That is why the weekend is always in package. Death was so real and so terrible for Jesus and his bungling well intentioned disciples; also beginning of the greatest miracle of all time. He lives. He lives.

 

Recognizing Saints

I have not been blogging for a while. This is probably no loss to any because we all have too much to read or post or think about. I too among all these things have had a slow slowly emerging couple of paragraphs mostly thinking ... something which I knew eventually I would need to share in this space. I seem to be encountering yet more faces of God. It is kind of different than the interesting articles I see posted or read in newspapers and periodicals. Also it seems consistent with what I have been saying recently: God is not so much akin to explanations as to experience. I confess that even as I present this as fresh and new beyond my reading, I am immediately reminded of a book, a weird little mission book read several years ago.[i] I have read about this before, probably read but never digested! That book fits in here somewhere. Hang tight and read on!

My wife and I were in Mexico for two weeks. We know we cannot afford these luxuries any more, but when you have fellow church members who invite you to come along – why not?  One day I took a taxicab heading for a local church of the Vineyard persuasion to join them in one of their touristy mission trips to the local garbage dump to feed the hungry there. Enroute to the church I enjoyed some conversation with the driver whose English was quite good, talked about many things: interesting stuff like cartels and governments, about politics in Canada and Mexico and safety and faith – yes Christian faith. In short order we were brothers in the Lord – even quoted a commonly held Bible verse to each other (Matthew 6:34)! Half an hour after he had me delivered to the church location and I was making sandwiches among other do-gooders I realized my cell phone was gone. Lost! This right on the heels of a notification received the day before that next cell phone bill would include an extra $70 for out-of-country data! Aagh, what a schlope metz I am! After a short burst of emergency self-loathing I suddenly felt a quiet peacefulness, informing me “Your brother the taxi driver probably found it in his car. He will return it safe and sound by end of day. Relax!” I participated in the day’s planned activities. That evening the adventurous phone was back in my hands. I was grateful for the returned cellphone, but even moreso that I had been enabled to believe in a stranger all day long!

Another tour had me riding a bus on the new Federal Highway 40 on top of and through the mountains Mazatlan to the city of Durango. My goal was to get as close as possible to the locale of some of my relatives and my grandparents’ graves. I had limited success in solving those geographic historical queries, but among fellow tourists met a ‘former’ Mennonite, she and her husband happily in the United Church in Manitoba – extremely pleased to discover an ordinary looking Mennonite who did not resemble the people they thought they came from. Conversations became fascinating, actually hilarious, especially when an American tourist, a black woman born in Malaysia of Hindu parents from different castes and a Christian husband now deceased declared that meeting this Mennonite preacher and these United Church people was God’s gift in her spiritual journey. Not lost on me was this obvious kairos moment. God is so much greater than our various ethnic religious cultural origins.

Back home, now I’m making up for lost time! There’s work to be done! On the door-knocking campaign trail for a hardworking political candidate, one evening I’m at a fundraiser. Now fundraisers are not my forte even among my churchy Christian friends, given this preacher’s slender retirement portfolio. I’ve learned my place in my church community. Fundraising happens among others! 😏 Not so among these politician friends. I am invited to a fundraiser among people also with deep pockets publicly announcing the thousands they will contribute. Feeling surprisingly free in this environment I eventually make my little speech. “My contribution may well be the smallest here tonight - perhaps like the widow’s mite in the Bible. Also I believe the scripture which says not even the left hand needs to know what the right hand is giving. So I’d rather not tell you the amount, but trust me I support all of us in this meaningful campaign.” Then, surprise!! Later, as we are lining up to process our donations, when it's my turn the treasurer guy warmly addresses me as “Brother.” I was touched. He is the financial coordinator for our local candidate; “brother” is now the simple deep to deep handle between the two of us. Once more I am granted an occasion to recognize the connectedness so obviously beyond political party, church or culture or lineage. The greatest recognition is common faith in Jesus Lord and Savior.

I also recognize almighty God, Creator, Allah as one who breathes breath (ruach) into all living beings. This, along with my unending discovery of fellow saints here, there, and everywhere also stretches into the occasional mystery of divine breath. I take a fairly brisk walk every morning. Recently for several days in a row I met the same person at a certain intersection, each time with a little nod of acknowledgement. A few days ago there he was again. I greet him cheerfully, even with reference to a slippery patch just back there. I press the Walk button, turn to continue the chat. He is gone; nowhere in sight; not a noise, just gonnzos! Next day I see another walking a different crosswalk, but same intersection; he too disappears almost before my eyes! I interpret this as a reminder that this particular intersection in this last year was the location where two persons lost their lives in two different motor vehicle accidents. My wife is not convinced by my interpretation of these visions I have seen – probably connecting them to some pills I take.😍 I am okay with this - no need to convince her that these visions were real. To me it is of the mystery and the experiential; not the academic or journalistic stuff I read or the explanatory sermons which I hear too much of these days. I am content and can even rejoice in extrasensory Presence occasionally coming my way.

Just yesterday I visited a dear elderly friend from our church, a brother who lost his wife just a few months ago. Given present circumstances he has chosen to move into a slightly smaller condo, same building. When he opened the door to show me the new place I breathed deeply, luxuriating in the fine natural light coming in the several windows. “Exactly”, he said with a smile and obvious satisfaction. “These windows are the reason.” I understood, we understood. Life is facing him with a few more new challenges. The windows of this place will be a fine vantage for his continuing journey. I appreciated him sharing this holy moment with me. I’m reminded of a song I learned when I was a kid.

“The windows of heaven are open. The blessings are falling tonight.” [ii]

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[i] Willis G. Horst, Toba Spirituality:The Remarkable Faith Journey of an Indigenous People in the Argentine Chaco (Elkhart, IN: Mission Insight #19, 2001).

[ii] English gospel tune. Author unkown.