A Week

Right now Muslims across the world are half way through Ramadan, a month of fasting, prayer, reflection and community, while Catholics and religious denominations in the Christian tradition move into the last week of Lent, traditionally known as Holy Week. Moslems will end Ramadan with the joyful celebration known as Eid al-Fitr, while Lent culminates in Easter.  

As a catholic I understand and appreciate the symbolism and traditions of Holy Week that once gave Jesus’ death and resurrection some relevance to how I approached Lent and Easter. But it doesn’t anymore. The emphasis on words, the timing, the washing of feet, palm waving and cross carrying no longer resonate in my world of quarter acre blocks and high rise apartments, supermarkets, weekend sport, flexi time, email and crowded roads. There is a swiftly growing divide between the two approaches to the week the Church calls Holy and the supermarkets call Easter (or Feaster as I once saw it advertised).

A lot happens in a week, any week, but some weeks stand out because their ordinariness is anything but. Jesus’ last week, the one that would end in his execution and all that followed on, started out on a high. It was the Passover, the biggest celebration in the Jewish religious calendar and Jesus and his troupe of disciples had tramped their way from Galilee to Jerusalem to join in the celebrations. Unexpectedly as he entered the city he was recognised by a group of people, today you might call them activists. They were looking for a leader, someone who they hoped could restore Israel to the greatness that the Romans had taken from them, and a noisy crowd gathered, waving him into the city in a procession of palms leaves. It was an unexpected, and unwanted beginning to a holiday break.

The episode did not go un-noticed. Roman soldiers making sure that the holiday crowds didn’t get out of control made a note of it, as did the Temple priests who felt threatened by Jesus’ teaching and his popularity with people. I suspect Jesus began to feel a little anxious.

The last week of Jesus’ life would have been a microcosm of emotions, none of them easy to accept or handle. Along with anxiety came fear that he might be arrested and what that might mean for his future. It threw a pall of un-knowingness over his get-together Passover supper with friends and followers,. A shaft of disappointment must have gone through him when Judas slipped away from the gathering. A feeling of ‘this is not going to end well’ moved into overwhelming loneliness as his companions drifted off into sleep and he was left alone in a loneliness that was so intense he had a physical reaction to it. He worried about his mother, who would look after her if he was no longer there.

What followed is documented in the Gospels. Betrayal by the friends whom he loved, being shamed and feeling de-humanised when he was stripped of his clothing and mocked for it. A verdict without a trial, knowing that he had done no wrong and there was no one there to talk up for him, the verdict – crucifixion, and the plummeting knowledge that this was the end. And worst of all his despairing cry, “My God, my God, where are You?”

Jesus’ resurrection tells us he was the Son of God. Jesus’ last week on earth shows us that that fear and anxiety, disappointment, betrayal and hurt, sadness and loneliness were part of his life just as they are in ours.  

As you prepare for Easter you might ask yourself, “How have I felt this week?”  

Judith judith@judithscully.com.au

Timetabling Lent

Most of us are familiar with the story of Cinderella, a tale that’s been around in one version or another since the 6th century. Before she got to dance with her prince she spent a lot of time sitting in the ashes. Maybe this is the theology of Lent; before we can be transformed we have to sit in the ashes.

I’ve never actually sat in ashes, but I’ve seen what a bushfire leaves behind; blackened space, mile after mile, hill after hill. There are no places to hide and nothing to do, just empty, unwelcoming and forbidding space.

If you have ever been alone for a day or two in an Australian wilderness or desert space without people or social media to fill up the empty space you will know what I mean. The only excess baggage you carry with you is the hidden stuff, the issues you keep under wraps, the experiences or words that make you cringe, the questions you do, but don’t, want answered.

Sometimes Jesus spent time alone in the Judean desert that lies east of Jerusalem and the West bank and west of the Jordan Valley and Dead Sea, a landscape that right now is caught up in an ongoing war. Every time he went alone to a quiet space it was to take stock, to recognise the temptations that he faced, to freshen his connection with God before picking up the ordinary of his life as an itinerant preacher at the head of a small band of disciples.

The season of Lent is not just about hot cross buns or fish on Friday, as my local supermarket would have me believe, but a time to remember that inside me, and you, maybe buried in ashes or lost in a personal wilderness, is a place of struggle. To pray from that place all we need to do is to simply and honestly recognise what is happening or not happening in our life and tell God how that is.

This Lent why not timetable a handful of times or spaces and set them aside as ME time. Walk, run, swim or play music, or weed the garden and as you do, turn your inner self space into God time. Reflect on a memory, a hurtful experience, buried dreams or possibilities ; anything that’s currently taking up space in your thinking.  

Alternatively you might consider dipping into Everyday Mystics, letting one of its themes or chapter headings catch your interest and quietly mulling over any implications its words might carry for you.  

Everyday Mystics was written from my belief that the mysterious living spark that each of us brings into the world is a God spark, and it never stops flickering. Long past Lenten words, rituals and prohibitions as well as other religious experiences and beliefs, can inadvertently smother this link. Everyday Mystics endeavours to link what is timeless in human development with a Christian spirituality that might feel at home in our twenty first century.

Everyday Mystics is available for sale from the online bookstore, Blurb Bookstore.

To order your copy click on the following link: 

https://au.blurb.com/b/11871252-everyday-mystics

Judith             (judith@judithscully.com.au)