Author: Pastor Aleese Kenitzer

This week we’ll find ourselves with one another quite a bit in corporate worship. To dwell together in community as we hear the story of Christ’s passion, death, and resurrection is important as we companion one another in faith. 

But in addition to your time in corporate worship, I also invite you to create a practice of your own devotion and prayer this week. Perhaps you already have a daily habit that needs some reinvigoration. Or, if you don’t have a practice that jives with you, consider downloading the Hallow app or the Lectio 365 app for daily readings and prayers. Or, pick up a copy of Christ in Our Home in our narthex, or follow along with the daily lectionary readings. 

However you choose to engage with this year’s Holy Week, I pray that you may experience God’s grace anew as the Spirit walks with you as your ever-present companion. Consider praying the following prayer with me this Holy Week as we prepare for the news of Christ’s resurrection this Easter: 

Dear Lord, your disciple Peter wanted to know who would betray you. You pointed to Judas but a little later also to him. Judas betrayed, Peter denied you. Judas hanged himself, Peter became the apostle whom you made the first among equals. Lord, give me faith, faith in your endless mercy, your boundless forgiveness, your unfathomable goodness. Let me not be tempted to think that my sins are too great to be forgiven, too abominable to be touched by your mercy. Let me never run away from you but return to you again and again, asking you to be my Lord, my Shepherd, my Stronghold, and my Refuge. Take me under your wing, O Lord, and let me know that you do not reject me as long as I keep asking you to forgive me. Perhaps my doubt in your forgiveness is a greater sin than the sins I consider too great to be forgiven. Perhaps I make myself too important, too great when I think that I cannot be embraced by you anymore. Lord, look at me, accept my prayer as you accepted Peter’s prayer, and let me not run away from you in the night as Judas did. 

Bless me, Lord, in this Holy Week, and give me the grace to know your loving presence more intimately. Amen.
-Henri J. Nouwen, from A Prayer for Holy Week 

Each year, we remember this story of our Lord’s death and resurrection: the only story that has the power to fill us to the brim. But why do we sing it every year? And why are we encouraged to observe each day of Holy Week?

Think of it this way: Holy Week is a song that we get to sing only once a year. We anticipate it. We relearn familiar parts. And from year to year, we may discover new harmonies to add. Though it is the same song, each time we approach this story, we find a new layer, a new dimension, a new way in which we are touched and filled with the fullness of God’s grace. 

And in this song, there are four distinct stanzas. Each are important, and each add thier own layer of meaning and purpose. Without the first stanza, the second stanza wouldn’t make sense. And without the second stanza, the third stanza wouldn’t make sense. The point being: without each unique stanza of the song, it would be as if we would be missing a key part of the song….a key part of the story. 

So this week, though it may seem odd to devote so much time to worship, I encourage you to dedicate yourself to worship on Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and Easter Sunday. Come and sing this song with us that we sing only once a year, and come discover a new layer or harmony as you once again experience the abundance of God’s grace.

If you’re still lagging from losing an hour of sleep this weekend, I feel you. Though it’s only one hour of sleep, it’s messed with my rhythm and it’s been more challenging to wake up when it’s dark outside again. Suffice it to say: my body is not only waiting (impatiently) for spring and summer days and for more daylight in the evening. It’s also waiting (impatiently) for the light to start peeking in earlier in the morning. 

For me, light is motivating. It gets me going in the morning. And, light is illuminative. Light helps us see what is otherwise hidden by the darkness. 

That light is a gift. But at times, it also may be tempting for us to stay in the dark. For in the dark, it’s easier to hide things…even in our relationship with God. 

Now, logically, we might recognize that we can’t hide in the darkness from God. God is God after all! But, in reflecting on the story of Nicodemus coming to Jesus at night, I can’t help but wonder if there are times in which we allow Jesus to see a part of ourselves, but we hold back a bit…keeping a part of ourselves in the dark…lest Jesus sees something that we’d rather not share with anyone else. Thinking about Nicodemus, it was a risk for him to come to Jesus. His meeting with Jesus very easily could’ve created problems with his fellow Jewish leaders. And yet, something prompted him to come to Jesus, to let himself be seen (even if only in part), and to consider what it meant for him to come into the light of Christ. 

For us, to come into the light of Christ is what God desires for us because in Christ’s light is where we experience – fully – the life, healing, and forgiveness of our Lord. But, coming into that light is also a risk. For to step into Christ’s light might lead to some change – of ourselves, of our perspectives, of how we live. And yet, this Light of the world – the very Word of God – is God himself who has come to you in faithfulness, fidelity, and devotion. And because of that promise, and that action of our God? We have absolutely no need to stay in the dark.

So this week, consider what it would mean for you in your walk with Jesus and with those around you to come into the light. How is God inviting you to dwell in his light? And, how is God summoning you to step into his spotlight, so that God’s light might shine through you? 

All around, God’s light is shining. But even now, that light is just waiting – impatiently – to illuminate more than we could ever imagine. 

“Destroy this temple,” Jesus said in our Gospel passage from Sunday, “and in three days I will raise it up.” (John 2:19). 

Literally, Jesus wasn’t talking about the physical temple in Jerusalem. Instead, he was figuratively speaking of the temple of his body – the place where God and all of God’s glory dwelled. In the moment, Jesus’ disciples wouldn’t understand. It would only be after Jesus’ death and resurrection that they would believe the scripture and the word that Jesus had spoken. 

Which, can we really blame ’em for not understanding? For the disciples, they had no idea what was going to happen in the years to come. And for the readers of John’s Gospel – reading John’s story of the Gospel message decades after Christ’s death and resurrection, and decades after their beloved temple had been destroyed by the Romans – they found themselves surrounded by nothing but destruction. 

So a message that Jesus could raise something up that was completely destroyed? Completely dead? It would’ve sounded like foolishness. Indeed, nonsense. And yet, that is the core message of the Christian faith: that God brings about new life – indeed, resurrection – even in the face of complete and utter de-construction and death. 

As people who know the “end of the story” – knowing where we’ll journey with Christ during Holy Week – we know this promse of life to be true for Jesus. But the thing is, this promise of new life coming from what seems to be completely lifeless is not just for Jesus. And this promise is not just for when our physical life on this earth is complete. Rather, this promise of new life is something that has been given to us, as members of the living body of Christ – indeed, as people in whom God’s glory now dwells today. 

So, though I realize that we’re not quite at Easter yet, what would it be like for us to look at our lives, look around our world, and look around the church and dare to believe that there is still a possibility for new life – for resurrection – to come from what is seemingly de-constructed? It might not be easy to see it – nor trust it – at first glance. But turning ourselves to Christ and his cross, even there – even in the face of what might seem to be nothing but de-construction, in faith – we just might see more than meets the eye. Indeed, we just might see the possibility…and the promise…of God’s Kingdom.

Perhaps it seems too early to talk about both death and resurrection. We’re still weeks away from Holy Week! But if you’ve been noticing creation around you lately, you’ve seen signs of death and resurrection. And if you were in worship this past weekend with us, you heard signs of death and resurrection as Jesus predicted that he would suffer, be rejected, die, and rise again. 

The message of Christ’s death and resurrection is central to our faith as Christians. And yet, often, it seems we want to skip to the good part (for any millenials and Gen Z-ers out there with me, cue “The Good Part” from AJR). It’s our inclination to focus on life, promise, hope, and light. Which, absolutely we should focus on those things, for we have already been given the promise of abundant and eternal life – even now! But as we see in nature around us, for something new to spring forth from the ground, first, something needs to die away (or, at least, something needs to go dormant for a few months). 

To talk about death isn’t the “popular” thing to do – whether talking about “death” literally or figuratively. But, if we’re not ready to die – or, if we’re not ready for something within us and around us to die, then we also aren’t ready for true resurrection to happen. 

So as we continue through this season of Lent, I encourage you to prayerfully consider: Is there something within me that needs to die so that I can experience resurrection and newness of life? Or, is there something in the world around me that needs to die so that others can experience resurrection and newness of life? And, is there anything within the church that needs to die so that we can embody and experience the fullness of Christ’s life for us, and for all the world? 

These are challenging questions. And yet, as we heard in our Gospel lesson this past Sunday, it is only by taking up our cross, by following Jesus, and by denying ourselves, that we will experience the fullness of God’s life for us, and for the world. 

Sometimes the season of Lent can feel like a “downer” of a season. Don’t get me wrong: self-examination, confession, repentance, and dedicating ourselves to the spiritual disciplines of prayer, fasting, and giving are important. These things help us prepare ourselves to fully recieve God’s abundant mercy through Christ’s death and resurrection during Holy Week. 

But even as we go through the season of Lent, that doesn’t mean that God’s mercy, faithfulness, and provision are absent. 

In our Gospel lesson this past weekend, we discovered that even in less than ideal circumstances, God was closer than it may have appeared. In Jesus’ baptism, God tore through the heavens – tearing through the barrier between God and God’s people, and whatever inhibited the kingdom of God from enveloping the whole world. Then, as Jesus was driven into the wilderness, even there God’s provision was closer than it might’ve appeared as Jesus was waited on by the angels. And finally, as Jesus came out of the wilderness, the first thing he publicly proclaimed was that “the time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near.” 

In six short verses in Mark, it’s clear that God, God’s provision, and God’s Kingdom has come near. It’s already happened, and at the same time, we await the fullness of God’s salvation to all the world. 

So then, if all these things are as close as they are to us, how does that impact us? Well, for God, God’s provision, and God’s Kingdom to be as near to us as they are will inevitably shape our lives and our perspective of the world. But in addition to that, in response to God’s nearness, now we are called to repent. All too often “repentance” is a word that is forgotten. But this Good News of Jesus Christ – the nearness of God – is to change us, completely! Which, ultimately, is what repentance is all about. Repentance literally means to change one’s mind, one’s heart, and one’s being. Not just once, but as a way of life, and as a posture in which we present ourselves to God as a grateful response.

So as we continue into the Lenten season, consider what it would mean for you to turn yourself to Christ as a way of life. To do so might ask something of us. It likely won’t be without some growing pains (as we’ll discover next week in worship). But in turning ourselves to Christ, we will be turning ourselves to the only source of life and hope.