I-YOUniverse

For the sake of variety I use the Glenstal Book of Prayer some. It’s produced by a Benedictine community of that name in County Limerick, Ireland. The publisher is suckering us a little, knowing the current popularity of all things Celtic and Irish.

But there’s a slightly different prayer for each morning and evening of the week, and prayers for the small hours of the Daily Office. By the time I read the scriptures from the daily lectionary here I’ve had a pretty healthy workout. Again, I’m lucky to have more time than many others do for this stuff.

Patron saint of cripples

My question for the day is: the Glenstal brothers include the petition that the saint of the day pray for us at the end of the prayers. In curiosity I looked up the saint for September 1: St. Giles, a hermit in France, whose pet deer was wounded by the king, and Giles himself was wounded. He’s now the patron saint of cripples.

What do I think about the veneration of saints?

The Blessed Virgin Moon

Southern Baptists collect money in the name of their saints such as Lottie (Charlotte) Moon. In the 19th century their Blessed Virgin calmly made her way through denominational squabbles over missionary ownership of land and assets on the foreign field. This strong Virginia woman “spoke” to the Chinese. (Had she been male, it would be preaching; but, as we all know, women do not preach.)

Like the Virgin Queen of England, she didn’t “yield her virgin patent up” to any male, partly because she didn’t wish to be subject to any male.

I grew up venerating Bill Wallace of China, a Tennessee physician martyred by the Communists. Jim Elliott and the four other Wycliffe missionaries murdered by Auca Indians also are protestant saints.

So do I get to claim the intercession of St. Giles on my behalf?

Who’s in between God and us?

Scripture clearly says: “There is one God; there is also one mediator between God and humankind, Christ Jesus, himself human,” 1 Tim 2:5 (NRSV). It also teaches that both Christ and the Holy Spirit intercede for us (Romans 8.26, 34). Christ was immobilized on the cross. He has experienced all I’ve experienced, and more.

The picture of St. Giles stroking the wounded deer is lovely, and the thought of a patron saint for cripples is commendable. Leviticus excludes cripples and others from Temple service; I’m glad God makes holy places more accessible than that to the disabled, women, and gays/lesbians.

I look to the communion of saints for thousands of years of tradition (not as authoritative for me as for Catholics), but still it’s my roots. I look to them for their example and witness, and spiritual companionship (granted I don’t know exactly what that is.)

But I don’t need them to stand in line to get me an audience with the Creator, Christ, Comforter. The 1+1+1=1 is closer to me my breath.

Remembering and honoring forebears

As I understand it, the intercession of the saints and Mary grew more important as awareness of the nearness of the Father receded. But the immanence of God has never waned in my awareness, so I’m not hankering for closeness. I’ve got it, even when I don’t feel it.

Give Baptists a couple thousand years, they’ll have a roster of saints equal to that of the Roman Catholics today. It’s proper to remember and honor our forebears. I’ve even got a list of my own saints.

Mary is something else. The Holy Spirit came upon her as upon no other human being; she shared a heartbeat with Jesus for nine months. Yet, Jesus said,  ”Whoever does the will of God is my brother and sister and mother.” Mark 3:35 (NRSV)

So for now, I’ll continue to pray the liturgy of the Glenstal Abbey, with its prayers to Mary and the saints, but out of courtesy and because I’m tired of arguing with my brothers and sisters in Christ about this. God bless them! We disagree. Big fat hairy deal.

William Congdon, crucifix 64, 1973.

webpage here. (I didn’t see permissions policy or copyright notice. I’ll be glad to abide by one if copyright holder lets me know.)

I’m learning to pray using the Catholic Rosary as a “method”—the word John Paul II used to describe the Rosary in his encyclical here. The page I refer to as I say the Rosary is here.

This morning I said the Rosary entire, all 20 mysteries, just to see what it’s like. I don’t know if experimentation takes away from the merit of the thing or not. But I don’t much care about merit, to be blunt. All that stuff about the goodies you get for saying the Rosary demeans it, just from my viewpoint.

I figure I’m a sinner and I’m standin’ in the need o’ prayer—any how any where any time. Especially contemplative prayer.

Growing up I heard lots of people pooh pooh Catholics and ritual prayers. But I noticed that often our Baptist prayers were rote. People said the same words over and over again and again. Only we never thought through what we said, never paid any mind to the beauty or cadence of our words. It wasn’t ritual; it was rut.

Well, no sermons.

One, my fingers are sore after sliding paper clips 200 times through thumb and index finger. It’s a cloudy, rainy day. Arthritis likes to come out and play anyway on such days.

Two, it took one hour, 21 minutes. I’m lucky enough to have that much solitude. Most people don’t.

Three, I did announce each Mystery (event in Jesus’ life) and spiritual fruit prayed for three times, not once, so that I’ll learn them. The unfamiliar ones I read through the description of, which is on the website (above).

I like the pictures. But the people are all white. Not a Middle Eastern complexion among them. So they somewhat hindered my reflection. I had to keep reminding myself that Jesus looked like a terrorist is supposed to look like. The same is true for everyone around him.

Do I feel a deep sense of peace, or of God’s presence? Not particularly.

The thing about ritual is, you gotta put it in place, use it until the edges fray a bit. Then, some day when it’s the last thing on your mind, ka zam!

You feel the Holy Spirit. You’re suddenly on Cloud 9.

However—it’s a big however—the Spirit is there as you’re building the house, there during every boring day, just as fully as the day when the air tingles and your feet don’t touch the ground. Those FX are spiritual cotton candy, lots of fun, but not essential. And every carnivore on the midway, including Satan, has a large display of them.

Nobody was praising God for the cotton candy at the cross.

Above is the catalogue picture of the Rosary. I chose the light one from www.latinworksco.com. Jeanene Atkinson at www.RealLivePreacher.com has some beautiful pieces, but I’m not ready to commit when I may burn out in a few days. So I found the least expensive item and one that honors my Mexican grandmother and her ancestors.

This morning I tipped my hat to my Baptist DNA and prayed the alternative Rosary-like prayer using

• the Shema in place of the initial three Hail Marys,
• John 3.16-17 KJV in place of the 10 Hail Marys in each decade,
• verses from Romans 8 in place of Hail Holy Queen,
• the Aaronic blessing, and
• a Pauline doxology to close.

I followed the Sorrowful Mysteries as described on the Dominican website. (See Praying the Rosary 2.)

There’s nothing here to offend Protestants or Radical Reform descendants. And it passed by so fast, I couldn’t believe I was done.

The biggest problem was that my paper clips separate, so I twisted them with plyers.

John 3.16-17 KJV is as close to the Hal Mary as you can get, in terms of its emotional punch. And it’s virtually a prayer for the salvation of the world. I know grammatically, it’s not supplication but it doesn’t take much of a leap of faith to get from “that the world through him might be saved” to a plea for everyone’s salvation.

I also like sticking with scripture, although I list the Prayer of St. Francis as an alternative, and retained the Apostle’s Creed. OK classic Baptists say, “No creed but Christ,” but in these days of anything goes, I doubt if a good simple creed hurts anybody—as long as there’s no inquisitor around stabbing us with each jot or tittle.

Why not change elements from time to time? Micah 6.8 is such a powerful text. And I haven’t read the psalms closely for appropriate supplications, of which there must be many.

I’m going to keep saying the Catholic version as well. I’m finding that it’s getting under my skin. I can’t keep from thinking about it. This is beginner’s infatuation, I guess. But I remain convinced there’s no reason why Catholics have to be the only ones saying the Rosary.

Your thoughts are welcome.

If you Google Protestant or Anglican rosary, you’ll find many good historic efforts to make the Rosary acceptable to non-Catholics. I spent just a few hours and came up with this biblical version. The hymns from Revelation 4 and 5 also serve well. The Mysteries are a wonderful summary of Jesus’ life and teachings, especially the new Luminous Mysteries; I have suggested alternatives for the final two Glorious Mysteries, which deal with the Assumption and Coronation of Mary.

I do not mean any irreverence to the traditional Marian prayer. Personally, I’m going to stick with it for now. The Dominican site www.rosary-center.org  has a great summary with beautiful paintings to illustrate each step of the Marian version.

But this very simple process illustrates that we’re a lot closer to each than we think.

In Place of Hail Mary:

For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life. For God sent not his Son into the world to condemn the world; but that the world through him might be saved. John 3:16-17 (KJV)

OR

Create in me a clean heart, O God, and put a new and right spirit within me. Do not cast me away from your presence, and do not take your holy spirit from me. Restore to me the joy of your salvation, and sustain in me a willing spirit. A broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise. (from Ps 51)

OR

What does the LORD require of us
but to do justice, and to love kindness,
     and to walk humbly with our God? Micah 6:8 (NRSV)

In Place of Longer Prayers:

The Prayer of St. Francis OR  23^rd Psalm  OR

When we cry “Abba! Father!” the Spirit bears witness that we are children of God. The Spirit intercedes for us with groans too deep for words. Who will separate us from the love of Christ? Will hardship, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword? No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. Neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord (Rom 8.)

OR                                                                                                                    

 The LORD is my light and my salvation;
whom shall I fear?
The LORD is the stronghold of my life;
     of whom shall I be afraid? …
One thing I asked of Thee, LORD,
     that will I seek after:
to live in the house of the LORD
     all the days of my life,
to behold thy beauty, LORD,
     and to inquire in thy temple. …
not cast me off, do not forsake me,
     O God of my salvation! …
If my father and mother forsake me,
     do thou, LORD, will take me up.
Teach me thy way, O LORD,
     and lead me on a level path … from Psalms 27:1-14 (NRSV)

According to the riches of his glory, may God grant that we be strengthened in our inner being with power through his Spirit, and that Christ dwell in our hearts through faith, as we are being rooted and grounded in love. May we have the power to comprehend, with all the saints, what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, so that we may be filled with all the fullness of God. Now to him who by the power at work within us is able to accomplish abundantly far more than all we can ask or imagine, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus to all generations, forever and ever. Amen. from Eph 3:16-21 (NRSV)

May the same mind be in us that was in Christ Jesus,
who, though he was in the form of God,
     did not regard equality with God
     as something to be exploited,
but emptied himself,
     taking the form of a slave,
     being born in human likeness.
And being found in human form,
he humbled himself
     and became obedient to the point of death–
     even death on a cross.
Therefore God also highly exalted him
     and gave him the name
     that is above every name,
so that at the name of Jesus
    our knee and every knee should bend,
     in heaven and on earth and under the earth,
and our tongue and every tongue confess
     that Jesus Christ is Lord,
     to the glory of God the Father. from Phil 2:5-11 (NRSV)

May we be filled with the knowledge of God’s will in all spiritual wisdom and understanding, so that we may lead lives worthy of the Lord, fully pleasing to him, as we bear fruit in every good work and as we grow in the knowledge of God. May we be made strong with all the strength that comes from his glorious power, and may we be prepared to endure everything with patience, while joyfully giving thanks to the Father, who has enabled we to share in the inheritance of the saints in the light.  from Col 1:9-12 (NRSV)

Some of my friends and colleagues in ministry will be sure I’ve gone off the deep end! Though I doubt many will notice, fewer will care.

I said my first Rosary today.

Yesterday I ordered from San Antonio a Mexican Rosary, simple wood beads. By the time I paid shipping it was $20.00. Mexican, in honor of my grandmother Dolores Mercado and aunt Margaret Dickson.

I found several sites where you can make your own Rosary. That strikes me as totally cool. I can imagine, if this impulse lasts, that I’ll make a Rosary and put into it all the devotion and love I can. I don’t have any desire for one of the expensive, jeweled pieces of which there are many.

First, what was it like?

I hooked ten paper clips together and added five loose ones, one for each decade. Following a chart, I recited the prayers, and announced the Joyful mysteries, milestones in Jesus’ early life. You’re supposed to focus on these, rather than the words you’re saying. But I did well enough to say the right words in the right order.

I’m amazed the paper clip chain worked fine. I hope to know how to say the Rosary by heart when my Mexican Rosary comes in the mail.

It was a very mechanical process: how to hold the paper clip so I didn’t get mixed up as to which one I was counting, which prayer to say, etc. There are some differences in how different Catholics say their Rosary. I just want the standard version.

I was surprised at the welcome and peace I felt. I instantly understood why Catholics hang on to the veneration of Mary. There is a softness, a sweetness, about her that deeply blesses.

Whoa! You’re a Baptist, a son of the Radical Reformation, not even a protestant. And you’re saying prayers to the BVM Blessed Virgin Mary???

Frankly, I’m intentionally not thinking theologically at the moment, turning off the analytical mind and welcoming God as Catholics do. The Feminine of God my tradition has totally ignored and shut down; I’m interested in exploring Her (whatever).

It’s also time for the walls between our traditions to come down, for us to welcome one another to one table, where one Lord presides.

Interesting nuggets:

• an Old English word for prayer is “bede” related to “bid.” So the beads of the Rosary themselves remind us of prayer.
• the Rosary was probably the response of the poor to the monks’ weekly recitation of the 150 psalms in Latin. The poor didn’t know Latin, so they substituted 150 repetitions of the prayer they knew: “Hail Mary…”

This kind of prayer helps to quiet the “monkey tree,” the mind that chatters right through times of silence. I’m hoping to learn a lot about prayer.

If future experiences with the Rosary turn out to be as helpful as my first, it will become a permanent part of my prayer life.

I welcome hearing about any experience you have with saying the Rosary, or other prayers.

Growing up Southern Baptist in El Paso, Texas, in the 1950s and -60s, my father converted from Catholicism, I was imbrued with dislike, suspicion, even hatred of all things Catholic. In seminary taking a class on the classics of Christian devotion, I discovered that the ancient churches of Rome and Byzantium held vast riches of devotion and spiritual formation next to which Baptists had few.

There was Pilgrim’s Progress, of course. Grace Abounding to the Chief of Sinners. That I didn’t find until grad school. Streams in the Desert, My Utmost for His Highest. Other than that, flat modern stuff from the denomination.

The Imitation of Christ, published by Moody Press, despite its publisher, was too medieval and sacramental for me. Now I can’t get enough of it.

Then, in seminary I took Classics of Christian Devotion with Glenn Hinson. Hinson has been hounded by fundamentalists as a heretic. May we have many, many more heretics. He wrote among many others a book called Seekers After A Mature Faith, which surveyed resources on spirituality. In the course I accepted the assignment of presenting Augustine’s Confessions.

The pastorate is not especially conducive to spiritual growth or depth. So now in exile, I’m playing catch up, reading, learning, praying.

Today, I think for the first time, I prayed the Stations of the Cross. I was perched on a stool in the kitchen, Celtic Daily Prayer, pp. 251-264, opened on the stove top, a cup of coffee in hand, beside a sink full of dishes to be washed.

I’m not much for devotion that lingers with masochistic delight over the torture Christ endured. I didn’t see Mel Gibson’s The Passion. That’s not based on the Gospels. An Aramaic original doesn’t exist. To create one is to claim more for the product than is merited, in my opinion.

As I read aloud the sections, I tried to slow down, let the reality sink in as much as possible. I broke up as I read:

Lord, you were stripped of the robes  You wore,
but You were the same—it didn’t change You.

I waited a moment until I could read more.

Crucifixion is so alien to us; we can’t fathom that kind of death. So celebrities pose in mockery. A chocolatier creates the crucifixion chocolate for Easter. We get our daughters fine gold crosses on gold chains.

I recall on my Emmaus Walk, they asked me to drive a nail into a cross. I couldn’t do it, I wouldn’t do it. I was the last. Several men huddled around, explaining, encouraging. Finally, I caved to the social pressure. But I’ve always regretted that. For me.

The cross is unimaginable.

Think of the PTSD someone would experience who actually saw a human being nailed to a board, hanged, left to die a lingering death from exposure, suffocation.

What good does it do, to meditate on atrocity? What good does it do?

(more…)

The early Bible study some friends and I do on Thursdays today.

1  We’re trying out Skype. We all know:

To err is human but to really f—- things up,

it takes a computer.

 My friends in Africa, my wife and her colleagues at Virginia Institute of Pastoral Care, and I are working on making reliable audio and video connections for case conference, fellowship and prayer time. This morning at 7, noon in Yaoundé, we planned to connect. IF the technician got my African friend‘s computer back to him.

My laptop sat prominently on the dining room table, ready for us to meet. Everybody oohed and aahed over our plans. I tried several times to connect, but was never successful.

Time: 7 a.m. We end at 8.

2 My wife left for work. There was a loud buzz, then a mechanical

Voice:              “Did you hit your panic button?”

Me:                  “What?”

Voice:              “This is your home security company. Somebody at your address hit the panic button on the key chain alarm. What is your emergency?”

Me:                  “There’s no emergency.”

Voice:              “What’s your all clear code?”

Me:                  “Armageddon.”

Voice:              “Thank you.”

I’ve been wanting to check the security system, anyway. I have this goofy plastic pendant that I can’t wear under my shirt because it makes me break out. “Kirk, to Enterprise.” Other than that, except for a few blinks, we’ve got nothing to show for our monthly security payment.

Time:               7:10 a.m. We end at 8.

3 The computer goes into its version of the northern lights. That’s either asleep or hibernation. I never know which.

Now I show everybody the Celtic Daily Prayer website: www.northumbriacommunity.org/.

(Clearly people I’m HTML-challenged; screw it. 30 minutes trying to master the damn link, while the message rips off like a breath in a blizzard.)

Time: 7:30 a.m. We end at 8.

4 One friend shares how much of a blessing his prayer book is. He dashes off to the car to get it. Another digs through her purse for a slip of paper to write the web address on.

 Me:        “Not to worry, I’ll email you a link.”

 Relief.

 I talk about how I’ve been doing Celtic Daily Prayer for four or five days now. (I’ve got a doctor’s appointment coming up. Of course, I’m not anxious about it.)

 Then free (old, conservative, solid) Bible software: http://www.e-sword.net/. Then how I prefer a cheap disc for the NRSV.

 By now my friend’s back from the car with the Book of Common Prayer, an older edition than the one I use (1979). Daunting if you’re not used to it. So I mention the lectionary home page.

 Bells and whistles. Bells and whistles.

 I find a prayer for children that might be helpful.

 Time: 7:50 a.m. We end at 8 a.m.

5 God ripped my heart out.

 I can’t talk about our prayer concerns. You know them way too well, anyhow. But suddenly the geek circus we were showing off tooted, tooted, blinked, blinked, forgotten.

There we were. Prostrate before the mercy seat. Waiting for the still small voice.

Elijah killed about 950 pagans for the Lord. He was a righteous man, who prayed and for awhile it didn’t rain; prayed again, and it began to rain, to pour. He fled for his life from a queen he thought was wicked, anyway.

Fled to a cave. Waited for the earthquake, storm, lightning that were his stock in trade. None of those came. Only a whisper: “What are you doing, here, Elijah?”

Me:                  “Laptop! Software! Internet!”

Whisper:          “What are you doing, John? Pay attention! To really f—- things up, it only takes…you. You needed to pray. Desperately, you needed to pray. At last, you did.”

Time:               7:57 a.m. We end at 8.

Good News!

Honest to God, a company that holds a chunk of my retirement savings called this week to inform me that I am not dead. They used my Social Security number by mistake for some claim. The official said I may be inconvenienced, but they are working to correct the error. Does that mean I will be dead soon? They said, just ignore any mail I may receive to the contrary. How do you write to the dead?

Journal: random thoughts about spiritual deepening

I’ve always wanted to be a monk. Something about living your whole life around the rhythm of prayer appeals to me. But in college I met the woman with whom I am one soul, and (not having the physical stamina to be a missionary) I went into the pastorate, often the equivalent of the hair shirt.

Now 30 years later I find myself at home alone most of the time, and physical constraints again limit what I can do. So I read, and the old hunger to live a life of prayer is back.

Reading Mother Julian slowly

One discipline I’ve undertaken is to read slowly, often aloud. Lectio divina? Maybe.

It’s not how I was taught to read. I took a rapid reading course at the beginning of my academic life, and I still often gut a book in an hour or two.

But you can’t get the most spiritually out of reading that way. That rapid reading skims the ideas off the surface. Slow reading sinks deep into the thought and experience of the writer.

The only problem is, it takes such a helluva long time. I’ve been reading Mother Julian (as C.F. Andrews calls her) for months!

I found this extraordinary prayer:

God, of your goodness, give me yourself, for you are enough for me, and I can ask for nothing which is less which can pay you full worship. And if I ask anything which is less, always I am in want; but only in you do I have everything.

Julian of Norwich. Showings. Classics of Western Spirituality.  (Mahwah, NJ: Paulist Press, 1978), p. 184.

If anyone thinks this is just anti-body masochistic spirituality, they should read her amazingly tender account of how the body eliminates waste in  the love of God! (p. 186)

Praying Celtic Daily Prayer

At the suggestion of Scot McKnight, Jesus Creed, I’ve made the commitment to praying the daily office. Celtic Daily Prayer looks good, and I had a discount coupon, so I got the book. I know it’s online, but I like the feel of a good book in my hands. Nothing can replace that.

The only spiritual discipline that’s stuck for years is reading the psalm and gospel of the Daily Lectionary, BCP. I find the psalms begin to sink into my subconscious. So I always read them for devotion from the KJV or NRSV.

I’ll keep you posted how it goes.

Collective practice

I love the Collect form. The article “Collective wisdom” by John D. Witvliet in Christian Century 7-29-2008 reminded me of the basics. So I’ve been writing them, like haiku. It’s a great way to center prayer more on God than on self.

I’ve been dealing with anxious thoughts about getting older. This prayer caused the anxiety to dissipate and me to grin:

Loving God, you teach us to cast all our cares on you. Grant that we so trust you that anxiety will prompt us to pray without ceasing, love without limit, and wait without whining. In Jesus’ name. Amen

 Then Jesus went with them to a place called Gethsemane.”

Matt 26:36 (NRSV)

Some words are so redolent, so full of beauty and meaning, that your eye can’t slide past them without pausing.

Bethlehem, “house of bread,” is such a word—Bethphage and Bethany, two others, the first meaning “house of figs”; the second, “house of the poor.”

Bethany, among the poor, is where Jesus stayed the night before his final confrontation with religious authorities. The next day in powerful action parables he cursed the fig tree and cleansed the Temple. (Mark 11.1-14)

 Alone

Gethsemane is another word, which needs nothing but itself. It’s found in today’s gospel reading of the Daily Lectionary, BCP. Here, in an ancient olive grove named for the olive presses that might have stood there in the garden, Jesus spent the night before his arrest, praying.

Though he longed not to be, he was alone. (NRSV brackets the angel of Luke 22.43.) From the larger group of 11 men and others perhaps, he invited Peter, James and John to go a little farther with him.

Some people have a vocation to go deeper with God in prayer, if they will.

Despite his repeated requests and warnings that “the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak,” the disciples fell into a sleep heavy with grief and confusion. They did not understand, yet they surely must have sensed their Master’s mood was grim, even before he told them, “I am deeply grieved, even to death.”

 Moment of decision

The real moment of decision did not come during the trials before the high priest or Pilate or Herod. It didn’t come when Pilate asked the crowd, “Which man shall I release to you?”

No, it came now in this quiet garden, here on the side of the Mount of Olives.

 Precedents

Maybe he recalled the prophecy of Zechariah, how in the end time

the LORD will go forth and fight against those nations as when he fights on a day of battle. On that day his feet shall stand on the Mount of Olives.

Zech 14:3-4 (NRSV)

Or perhaps he remembered how David fled Jerusalem,  ascending the mount, bare-foot, his head covered, weeping. (2 Sam 15.30)

Whom did he identify with more—the triumphant Son of Man, or the failed aging king?

 Before they are useful

 Jesus knew what awaited the fruit of these trees. The first to be produced was light, fruity virgin olive oil. Further pressings produced lower grade oil used for lamps. Prized as a cosmetic, as an emollient and medicine; blended with spices, it provided the basis for the holy oil to light the Temple and  to anoint prophets, priests, and kings.

But Jesus knew what stood between the oil of such glorious usefulness, and the fruit developing on the tree. Raw olives are too bitter to eat. Immature green olives, struck or picked from the tree, are brined or soaked in water or oil.

Those allowed to mature are crushed by a huge millstone. The resulting mash is pressed through screens, vegetable matter and water are then removed.

In this verse John acknowledges in a similar image that Jesus knew self must die on the cross:

Very truly, I tell you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.

John 12:24 (NRSV)

 A Post-Easter realization?

The gospels agree that he repeatedly predicted

The Son of Man is to be betrayed into human hands, and they will kill him, and three days after being killed, he will rise again.

Mark 9:31 (NRSV)

Is this actually a post-Easter realization? Did he never wonder (as most of us would), there alone in the darkness: “What if I am wrong? What if there is nothing more?”

 Blowin’ in the Wind

Perhaps a light wind stirred. It was months before the olive harvest. Did the breeze unveil cream-colored blossoms now and then among the thick gray-green folliage? Did their fragrance scent the night air?

What passed through his mind?

We are told he prayed, ”Abba, Father, for you all things are possible; remove this cup from me; yet, not what I want, but what you want.”

The cup of wrath. Staggering. Drunkenness. Vomit. Judgment. Not at all like the cup of salvation he had so recently shared with his closest friends.

He groaned—groans too deep for words.

 Intimations of Life

Perhaps he gripped the twisted trunk of a stump before which he knelt. Perhaps from the old ax blows he saw new foliage sprouting. Perhaps he remembered what Job said:

There is hope for a tree,
     if it is cut down, that it will sprout again,
     and that its shoots will not cease. 

Job 14.7 (NRSV)

Perhaps.

 Unveiling Jesus’ psyche

How did this account of Gethsemane come to be told? Jesus’ friends lay all asleep. He was alone, but for the wood, the leaves, the blossoms.

Did the Risen Christ tell the story, fill in the gaps the disciples didn’t know or couldn’t remember?

Here’s what we know: he came from that place, put on trial the greatest legal system known to humanity, and won eternal life for us and all our kind.

The best words about Gethsemane

The best account, apart from the glimpses preserved in the gospels, is in the words of Sidney Lanier, writing in 1880 (according to Oremus):

Into the woods my Master went,
clean forspent, forspent,
into the woods my Master came,
forspent with love and shame.
But the olives they were not blind to him.
the little grey leaves were kind to him,
the thorn tree had a mind to him,
when into the woods he came.

Out of the woods my Master came
and he was well content;
out of the woods my Master came,
content with death and shame.
When death and shame would woo him last,
from under the trees they drew him last,
’twas on a tree they slew him last
when out of the woods he came.

When the heart is hard and parched, come upon me with a shower of mercy.

When grace is lost from life, come with a burst of song.

When tumultuous work raises its din on all sides, shutting me out from beyond, come to me, God of silence, with Your peace and rest.

When my beggarly heart sits crouched, shut up in a corner, break open the door, my God.

When desire blinds the mind with delusion and dust, O Holy One, come with Your light and Your thunder.

The Heart of God: Prayers of Rabindranath Tagore, ed. Herbert Vetter (Boston: Tuttle Publishing, 1997).

First Asian to win Nobel Prize for literature (1913), Rabindranath Tagore (1861-1941) is a national poet of India, an educator, lyricist, advocate of Indian liberation from British rule.