Is there some idea to replace my life?

The entire Passion Gospel is here. These two chapters in John’s Gospel take us from Thursday evening to Friday evening, from one garden to another garden.

I over-seeded portions of my back lawn a few days ago, and I’ve been watering the seeds every morning. This feels like a good thing to do during Holy Week: to aid growth in a barren area. I’m not a gardener like my wife is, but I understand why, for her and for many others, time in the garden is time spent with God. The garden is where seeds go to die and to be resurrected.

Between the wisdom of two gardens, other details in this story seem frenetic, pitiful or ridiculous: Peter’s three denials, Pilate’s wrangling over Jesus’ guilt or innocence, the priests’ determination to get the Romans to do away with Jesus, the inscription “The King of the Jews” over Jesus’ cross, the soldiers gambling for Jesus’ possessions.

Yet these details are where we spend most of our lives: protecting our reputations, trying to understand confusing situations, ham-handedly forcing our own way, being taken advantage of, and taking advantage of others. All of these are very human things—and God loves us in spite of or maybe even because of these things.

But today, I’d rather dwell on the moments of real wisdom and love. Between one garden and another, we find Jesus refusing the way of violence; Jesus announcing that he is not the kind of king one might imagine; Jesus denying that Pilate, and by extension the Roman Empire, has any real power of its own; and Jesus ensuring the future care of his mother by pairing her with one of his disciples.

The goodness of Jesus’ life inspires one more act of wisdom and love. Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus are powerful Jewish leaders. Up to this point, their efforts to stand up for Jesus have been brave but half-hearted. But today, they collect his body, wrap it, and secure a tomb in which to place it.

This morning I’ll deal with some of the more trivial things: washing and priming walls to get ready to paint tomorrow morning; shopping for groceries; looking for replacement baseboard for the family room; cleaning the microwave. All of these things have to happen. I’ll probably also engage in some kind of self-serving behavior. This happens every day, more than once. But I’ll also be on the lookout for wisdom and love. I’ll start by watering the new grass seed again: this is wisdom and love.

And after dinner, I’ll meet with four teenagers who have been asked to carry the big cross into the church tonight. I’ll invite them to carry the cross for someone in their own lives who is carrying a burden that feels too heavy to bear.

Here’s a song by Sufjan Stevens called “For the Widows in Paradise, for the Fatherless in Ypsilanti.” The lyrics are here.

Music for Holy Week is here, including an entire suite for Good Friday. I'll begin to post Easter music tomorrow.

And He takes and He takes and He takes ...

I looked on the earth, and lo, it was waste and void; and to the heavens, and they had no light.
I looked on the mountains, and lo, they were quaking, and all the hills moved to and fro.
I looked, and lo, there was no one at all, and all the birds of the air had fled.
I looked, and lo, the fruitful land was a desert, and all its cities were laid in ruins before the Lord, before his fierce anger.
For thus says the Lord: The whole land shall be a desolation; yet I will not make a full end.

- Jeremiah 4:23-27

In one part of the world, war rages. In another, people struggle from day to day in the wake of a devastating earthquake, tsunami, and nuclear disaster. What sufferings do we have that can possibly compare with these?

Just this: we’re alive, but we won’t be forever. All around us, people are suffering death and loss. Though the lawns are still neatly manicured and commerce goes on unimpeded, it feels like their world is coming to an end.

“The mountains are quaking, and the hills are moving to and fro, because the one I love is gone. There is no one at all, and even the birds have left me alone, because the one I love is gone. The fruitful land is a desert, because it cannot feed me the one I love. The cities are laid in ruins, because I would give them away to get back the one I love.”

The sufferings of individuals cannot really be compared to each other. It feels like God is singling us out for punishment. Yet does God punish in this way? Does God send death and loss in order to attack us? Despite the preponderance of scripture that might claim to support this view, I think not. But I do think it feels like this very, very often in our lives.

Yet, says God, “I will not make a full end.” Nothing is ever really destroyed; it just changes into a new form. And that also goes for the people we love but see no longer. But it still feels sometimes like God just takes and takes and takes.

From his album Illinois, here’s Sufjan Stevens with a story song about losing a young friend to cancer. It’s called “Casimir Pulaski Day,” a holiday that doesn’t really have much to do with the song except as a date marker. (But in case you’re curious, look here.)