"For last year's words belong to last year's language And next year's words await another voice.”
                                             - T.S. Eliot, Four Quartets


In the immediate aftermath of any tragic event, such as the shootings at the Jewish Community Center and Village Shalom last weekend, I find myself torn between a sense of urgency to address the tragedy; and the need to reflect and pray, and at the appropriate time offer a more reasoned response. On one hand, I worry that I may appear insensitive or out of touch if I am silent. On the other hand, I want to avoid hasty reactions and emotional outbursts that can obscure rather than clarify, and run the risk of losing my voice in the cacophony that, justifiably, echoes through every nook and cranny of our community.

Please be assured that my heart aches along with yours in the wake of this heinous crime against three innocent individuals – Dr. William Lewis Corporon, his grandson, Reat Griffin Underwood, and Terri LaManno – as well as their families, our broader community, and humankind as a whole. I have read, listened to, and observed friends, colleagues, and many others address this tragedy, and I appreciate both their sentiments and their intentions. I note with a sense of pride the unity and goodwill so broadly evident in the grip of such a disaster. This is as it should be, and it provides hope for our future. Nevertheless, I can’t help but wonder how this unity will manifest itself when these words have faded, the storm has passed, and our lives have once again settled into their daily routines.

This situation evokes in my mind the words of T.S. Eliot, “…last year's words belong to last year's language, and next year's words await another voice.” The language we have heard until now has been that of ideals fueled by shock, emotion, and hopeful aspirations. We await, however, another voice, which will translate our ideals into real, lasting, and intentional unity based on the desire to understand our neighbor – whoever she or he may be – and the willingness to live out such unity in our day-to-day lives.

This voice will help us identify the source of conflict between religious faiths, confront and overcome the barriers to cooperation in our own beliefs, spend time with our neighbors, breaking bread together, and learning about the shared values that not only make cooperation and goodwill possible, but insist on them. Will we commit ourselves to discover this new voice? Will we risk losing the easy comfort of our too often insulated communities? Will we make the effort to reach out in good will on a Tuesday afternoon after a long day of work, when mighty Casey has struck out and our team doesn’t make the playoffs, or when there is nothing worth eating in the fridge? Time will tell. In the interim we weep, we pray, we commiserate, and we await another voice. 

From the village of Bethany to the city of Jerusalem was scarcely half an hour’s walk. Moving from the village and across the Mount of Olives, a twist in the road revealed as if by magic a panoramic view of the holy city… All along the valley and all across the lower slope of Mount Olivet stirred the masses of pilgrims who had come for the Passover festival.
                                                                         - Shusako Endo 

READING: John 12.1-19 (CEB)
Six days before Passover, Jesus came to Bethany, home of Lazarus, whom Jesus had raised from the dead. Lazarus and his sisters hosted a dinner for him. Martha served and Lazarus was among those who joined him at the table. Then Mary took an extraordinary amount, almost three-quarters of a pound, of very expensive perfume made of pure nard. She anointed Jesus’ feet with it, then wiped his feet dry with her hair. The house was filled with the aroma of the perfume. Judas Iscariot, one of his disciples (the one who was about to betray him), complained, “This perfume was worth a year’s wages! Why wasn’t it sold and the money given to the poor?” ( He said this not because he cared about the poor but because he was a thief. He carried the money bag and would take what was in it.) Then Jesus said, “Leave her alone. This perfume was to be used in preparation for my burial, and this is how she has used it. You will always have the poor among you, but you won’t always have me.” Many Jews learned that he was there. They came not only because of Jesus but also to see Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead. The chief priests decided that they would kill Lazarus too. It was because of Lazarus that many of the Jews had deserted them and come to believe in Jesus. The next day the great crowd that had come for the festival heard that Jesus was coming to Jerusalem. They took palm branches and went out to meet him. They shouted, “Hosanna!
Blessings on the one who comes in the name of the Lord! Blessings on the king of Israel!” Jesus found a young donkey and sat on it, just as it is written, Don’t be afraid, Daughter Zion.
 Look! Your king is coming,
 sitting on a donkey’s colt. His disciples didn’t understand these things at first. After he was glorified, they remembered that these things had been written about him and that they had done these things to him. The crowd who had been with him when he called Lazarus out of the tomb and raised him from the dead were testifying about him. That’s why the crowd came to meet him, because they had heard about this miraculous sign that he had done. Therefore, the Pharisees said to each other, “See! You’ve accomplished nothing! Look! The whole world is following him!”

REFLECTION
We who are called to proclaim God’s Good News week after week, year after year, too often pride ourselves on our ability to deliver the right word on each and every occasion. In rare moments of humility and candor, however, those with mettle readily admit the inability to express in words the heart of the Easter experience. At this high holy time, we tend to step aside and let the story tell itself, while we simply give ourselves to its passion and its promise. This Easter will be no exception. Thus, in lieu of offering my take on the Easter story, I offer a prayer for Palm Sunday and the week that follows. May it bring you to Life, Light, and Joy!

God of all times and journeys; it’s been a long stretch on lonely, dusty roads – this pilgrimage we call Lent - but we’ve finally made it. Jerusalem! The Holy City! The gates have been thrown open wide, and we have witnessed the king of glory enter to the clamor of the crowds and shouts of alleluia! Hope has surely arrived! To be sure, we don’t understand this ‘donkey’ thing. Why not the royal steed our king so richly deserves? And we choose to overlook the reference to a prince of peace wielding no sword; that surely is an oversight. Or is it? Even as we revel in victory, storm clouds appear on the horizon; an omen of dark things to come. God, we are conflicted and confused about how this week will unfold: will it bring light or darkness? Victory or defeat? Life or death?

It’s been a long stretch on lonely, dusty roads – this pilgrimage we call Lent – yet it pales in comparison to the journey from Palm to Passion; from Triumphal Entry to Empty Tomb. Nevertheless, we must stay the course, because “The only road to Easter morning is through the unrelenting shadows of that Friday, only then will the alleluias be sung; only then will the dancing begin.” (Ann Weems, from Holy Week)

God, we will hold on to the excitement of this glorious day – Palm Sunday – and pray that you will hold us close through this Holy Week, illumine our path, and reveal to us at its end the mystery that lies beyond the reach of darkness and death; the resurrection to Life and Light. Amen.

Oh, I am in awe of the maker of galaxies and geese, stars and starfish, mercury and men (male and female). Sometimes it is rapturous awe; sometimes it is the numinous dread Jacob felt. Sometimes it is the humble awe of knowing that ultimately I belong to God, to the Maker whose thumb print is on each one of us. And that is blessing.
                                                  -       Madeleine L’Engle



THE READING
A man was sick, Lazarus of Bethany, the town of Mary and her sister Martha. This was the same Mary who massaged the Lord’s feet with aromatic oils and then wiped them with her hair. It was her brother Lazarus who was sick. So the sisters sent word to Jesus, “Master, the one you love so very much is sick.” When Jesus finally got there, he found Lazarus already four days dead. Bethany was near Jerusalem, only a couple of miles away, and many of the Jews were visiting Martha and Mary, sympathizing with them over their brother. Martha heard Jesus was coming and went out to meet him. Mary remained in the house. Martha said, “Master, if you’d been here, my brother wouldn’t have died. Even now, I know that whatever you ask God he will give you.” Jesus said, “Your brother will be raised up.” Martha replied, “I know that he will be raised up in the resurrection at the end of time.” “You don’t have to wait for the End. I am, right now, Resurrection and Life. The one who believes in me, even though he or she dies, will live. And everyone who lives believing in me does not ultimately die at all. Do you believe this?” “Yes, Master. All along I have believed that you are the Messiah, the Son of God who comes into the world.” After saying this, she went to her sister Mary and whispered in her ear, “The Teacher is here and is asking for you.” The moment she heard that, she jumped up and ran out to him. Jesus had not yet entered the town but was still at the place where Martha had met him. When her sympathizing Jewish friends saw Mary run off, they followed her, thinking she was on her way to the tomb to weep there. Mary came to where Jesus was waiting and fell at his feet, saying, “Master, if only you had been here, my brother would not have died.” When Jesus saw her sobbing and the Jews with her sobbing, a deep anger welled up within him. He said, “Where did you put him?” “Master, come and see,” they said. Now Jesus wept. The Jews said, “Look how deeply he loved him.” Others among them said, “Well, if he loved him so much, why didn’t he do something to keep him from dying? After all, he opened the eyes of a blind man.” Then Jesus, the anger again welling up within him, arrived at the tomb. It was a simple cave in the hillside with a slab of stone laid against it. Jesus said, “Remove the stone.” The sister of the dead man, Martha, said, “Master, by this time there’s a stench. He’s been dead four days!” Jesus looked her in the eye. “Didn’t I tell you that if you believed, you would see the glory of God?” Then, to the others, “Go ahead, take away the stone.”They removed the stone. Jesus raised his eyes to heaven and prayed, “Father, I’m grateful that you have listened to me. I know you always do listen, but on account of this crowd standing here I’ve spoken so that they might believe that you sent me.” Then he shouted, “Lazarus, come out!” And he came out, a cadaver, wrapped from head to toe, and with a kerchief over his face. Jesus told them, “Unwrap him and let him loose.”
                                    - John 11.1-3, 17-45 (The Message)



THE REFLECTION
In the narrative of the Fourth Gospel it is raising Lazarus, not cleansing the Temple, which stuns the religious leaders with the awareness that this one must die. Without asking which version of the story is historically accurate (an irrelevant question when one desires to penetrate to the meaning of the narrative, which is its heart and soul), it occurs to me that John’s account is more compelling. It alone motivates such a severe reaction to Jesus and the threat he poses.

In the synoptic account, Jesus is a distraction, a troublemaker to be sure, and he certainly disrupts business as usual in the Temple with his prophetic act. In the Fourth Gospel, however, Jesus’ actions reveal the new, revolutionary face of the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. When they gaze on Jesus the religious leaders see, as Marcus Borg might say, the God they never knew. And they are fearful. This new face of God is at once tenderer, more intimate, and more powerful than their experience suggests. Mores the pity; should they look more closely, they could see that this new face of God dispels any notion that God is to be feared, that God is to be kept at a safe distance, that God has room in God’s heart for anything other than the creative power of Love.

In his encounter with Lazarus, Jesus reveals the new face of God that we can trust with all that we are, and all we possess. Jesus is tender, moved by the plight of humankind, and determined to bring to it the fruits of compassion, healing and wholeness. And this Jesus is powerful. It is the very power of creation that can stand before death in its stark reality and call forth life.

Before this vision of the Word become flesh, before this intimation of the new face of God, we stand awestruck, stunned, and speechless. For this is the face of both tenderness and power. This is the face of One who understands and dispels our fears, the face of One who calls forth life from the jaws of death. Gazing on this face we finally understand the words of the psalmist, “I fear no evil.”