Holy Week Wednesday - Remembered

Recently with an online gathering of friends, we discussed some of our ancestors and how we remember them. In some cases it was our own experiences with our ancestors (like the grandfather and his practical jokes) and other times it was the stories passed down to us. There was the adventure of the two brothers who had once been tried for murder (and acquitted), possible American Indian relations, tales of traveling on foot or wagon to new towns. We remembered the ancestors who fought is past wars, both for the winning sides and for the losing sides. The lawman who gave his life for his community. The ancestors who farmed land that later became part of one of the largest cemeteries in the region, and who were buried in the land they had once farmed. 

We then talked of how we might be remembered by our grandchildren and their grandchildren when they see our faces in the old pictures, or carry-on the stories that have been passed down.

On what may have been the Wednesday of Holy Week we have a story of Jesus returning to Bethany for a meal with his friends. During the meal, a woman came into the room and anointed him with an expensive perfume.  If this sounds familiar to our Saturday story (the one John tells us in his account of the Gospel), it may be the same incident placed at a later time during the week by Matthew and Mark, or it may be a similar but separate meal and anointing (middle Eastern writers often wrote thematically rather than chronologically).

In either case, Jesus responded with grace to her act of sacrifice for him.  

“She has done a beautiful thing to me...She did what she could. She poured perfume on my body beforehand to prepare for my burial. Truly I tell you, wherever the gospel is preached throughout the world, what she has done will also be told, in memory of her.” (Mark 14:6,8-9)

We may not know the name of this woman, but we remember what she did. She is remembered every time we tell the story of Jesus.

Holy Week Tuesday - Something Different

Nothing seems quite right these days. There are a lot less cars to compete with at the intersections during my morning walk. But I am seeing far more other walkers than I normally do. So, to practice the physical distancing guidelines, I am veering off the sidewalk onto the grass a lot more often than walks in the past.

The stores are nearly empty of people, but the many of the shelves are empty, too.

My 91 year old Dad needs me to help him, so I go to help,  but we can’t hug. I miss seeing and playing with my granddaughters. I visit with my family and spiritual family via technology, but can’t hug or hold them. I don’t like the forced physical distance.

What has this to do with Easter Week? Did that week seem normal to Jesus? To his disciples? To his enemies? 

A simple phrase appears frequently in the Gospel story of Holy Week.

“He returned to Bethany” in Matthew and Mark, and “each evening he returned to spend the night on the Mount of Olives” in Luke.

Jesus and his followers are in Jerusalem during the busiest week of the year. They spend nearly the entire daylight hours there, mainly it seems in or near the Temple. But each evening they leave the hustle and bustle for the hills. Some days it may have been with their friends in Bethany, other days it seems to be in the quiet of the olive groves on the slopes on the mount between Jerusalem and Bethany.

Jesus sought quiet. For himself and his friends. 

These days for us have been different. Maybe more quiet or maybe more activities at home.  But it has been something different.  

But different may be just what we need at the moment. Time away from the usual busy-ness of our lives. More time with the people that matter most. More appreciation for those we are not with that we long to be with. More time to pray by name for each one I love.

God, let me be always grateful for the moments you have given me.