Stations of the Cross

These Stations of the Cross were drawn in 2012 for Saint Mark's Episcopal Church, Berkeley, California.  I offer them here for your personal guide to devotion.  The devotions were written in 2006 for publication by what was then the Extraordinary Candidacy Project, a group promoting the ordination of LGBTQ people in the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America.

I: JESUS IS CONDEMNED TO DEATH

Then Pilate saw that he was making no impression, that in fact a riot was imminent.  So he took some water, washed his hands in front of the crowd and said, 'I am innocent of this one's blood.  It is your concern.' And all the people shouted back, 'His blood be on us and on our children!' Then Pilate release Barabbas for them, and ordered Jesus to be first scourged and then handed over to be crucified. 

     St. Matthew 27:24-26

Last weekend we visited friends who have a country home up in Sebastopol.  It is beautiful countryside, with an early California spring bringing out buds, flowers, and promise.  My friends have installed the Stations of the Cross at the periphery of their property, so one can wander through the blackberries, apple trees, roses, and quail, and remember the passion.  It is a bit disconcerting to wander up to an oak tree full of buds and nascent leaves, and see the plaque noting the condemnation of Jesus. 

I began to think, that all of us are similarly condemned – condemned in the midst of goodness and beauty – condemned as babies, really.  Jesus is condemned for our sakes, and we are condemned because of him.  Our condemnation, flowing out of Adam and Eve’s weakness, is transfigured into a different kind of condemnation.  We are condemned to be buried with Christ in baptism – and to arise as a new creature – a new person.

This is not unfamiliar business to GLBT people – who live simultaneously in the midst of condemnation and resurrection.  The problem is to get our selves and others to see the resurrection part.  This is not a resurrection that abandons all God has made us to be, but rather a resurrection that integrates all of life, again, and makes it whole.  Death among the buds…it is an apt symbol of our lives and journey.

Prayer:

O Jesus, you died that I might live.  Let me die to those things that separate me from you and others, and let me rise to a life that will be a springtime for others.  Let us live in you.  Amen.

II: JESUS RECEIVES THE CROSS

The governor's soldiers took Jesus with them into the Praetorium and collected the whole cohort.  Then they stripped Jesus and made him wear a scarlet cloak, and having twisted some thorns into a crown, they put this on his head and placed a reed in his right hand.  To make fun of him they knelt and said, 'Hail, Ruler of the Jews!' And they spat on Jesus and took the reed and struck him on the head with it.  And when they had finished making fun, they took off the cloak and dressed Jesus in his own clothes and led him away to be crucified.                                                   

St. Matthew 27: 27-31

What crosses have been given to you in your lifetime?  What crosses have you willingly taken?  In our language about Jesus going “as a lamb to the slaughter” we run the risk of setting aside the human aspects of this drama.  Is Jesus given the cross here, or does he take it?  To know the inner psychology of the moment may not be ours to have, but we can approach the moment. 

I didn’t choose to be a gay man, nor did I always willingly accept that.  It surprises me to think that so many in our churches think that gay and lesbian people actually sit down a make a choice of it.  We may choose to come out, but the realities of our orientation are often borne by us at an early age.  Is this a cross handed to us, or is it a cross that we willingly take up?

Nor are gay and lesbian people the only ones to wrestle with such life dilemmas – others have equally wrenching decisions.  We don’t know what Jesus’ thoughts were at the moment, we only know the action.  Jesus takes up the cross (later to give it up for a moment).  In this action Jesus takes up the cross so that there might be life.  We too often have to take up the difficult so that others and we might have life as well.  Even this distinct act of Jesus is so touched with humanity, that it becomes a model for our own living.

Prayer:

O God in heaven, Jesus Christ still carries the cross in your persecuted brothers and sisters throughout the world.  Make us feel the needs of all persons so that we might as readily help them as we would help Jesus. Amen.

III: JESUS FALLS THE FIRST TIME

Some seed fell among thorns, and the thorns grew up and choked it.

St. Matthew 13:7

I am attending an Episcopal Church in San Francisco that has learned how to fall.  It has had a proud history, has had clergy who have advanced a great number of social issues, was on the forefront of grappling with and dealing with AIDS, and now it has fallen.  I don’t know if it is the first, second, or third time that this church has fallen, but it has the grace to know that it is down.

What I find attractive about this congregation is its struggle to begin to know itself again.  It is anxious not about the loss of prestige and history, so much, as it is anxious to regain a ministry in its neighborhood.  From this fallen position it looks up and out and asks, “What shall we do for others?  Whom shall we invite in?”

That Jesus should fall is not only a storyteller’s tool to make us understand the severity of his suffering, but also presents a Jesus who confronts suffering and failure as any human being would.  He has fallen, and in that fallen state we recognize our failures as well.  There is no need to look beyond this – it is enough for us to meditate on being fallen, on thinking it out in faith, on waiting on God or others, on grasping on to hope.

Jesus will get up (only to fall again), as we will get up, as this church will get up.  But let us take a moment, while we’re all down on the ground, church, Jesus, you and I, and let us wait a moment, and pray.  It might be a time for waiting.

Prayer:

O God, comfort us and give us peace when we call to you; turn the anxiety of our sins into the joy of forgiveness, and in your goodness, hasten the return of Jesus Christ. Amen.

IV.  JESUS MEETS HIS BLESSED MOTHER

Now there were standing by the cross of Jesus, his mother and his mother's sister, Mary of Cleophas, and Mary Magdalene.  When Jesus, therefore, saw his mother and the disciple standing by, whom Jesus loved, Jesus said to his mother, 'Woman, behold your son.'  Then Jesus said to the disciple, 'Behold your mother.' And from that hour the disciple took her into his home.

St. John 19:25-27

A Catholic audience would get this station.  Those of us who follow in the traditions of Luther have lost it, and the other Protestants have been alienated from it.  There is something profound in the interchange between Jesus, Mary, and John.  Jesus, in a way, is stirring up the pot; much in the same way as when he asked, “Who is my mother, who is my father?”  The traditional relationships were blown away in the new age that he was ushering in.  In that context, this little saying has great power.  And it is not a power that exists in that one moment, that one instance.  It is a power that needs to be reclaimed.

“Jesus said to his mother, ‘Woman, behold your son.’”  Poor Mary, none of the usual family relationships seemed to exist for her.  The usual explanations simply did not obtain in her situation.  She must have lived at some distance from neighbors and even from family.  She surely lived in the midst of a people who simply could not or would not understand.  Some of us know what that is like.  To this faithful servant, to this wonderful mother, Jesus says, “Woman, behold your son.”  Jesus gives to Mary a new family, a new relation ship, and a new kinship.  Now it is every disciple, every beloved one of Jesus who is the relation, the kin, the tribe, the family.  Worthy of ponder!

Likewise, John – the beloved, is given a new relationship, “Behold your mother”.  Jesus says this to John, but he in effect says it to the entire Church – Behold your mother!  It is the genius of classic Christianity, in both the East and in the West, that the ubiquitous patriarchy that suppresses so much in the development of Christianity, allows this one fundamental woman to stand – the Mother of God, and indeed, here, the mother of us all. 

Luther put it best: “Mary is the Mother of Jesus and the Mother of us all. If Christ be ours . . . all that he has must be ours and his Mother also must be ours."

Prayer:

O blessed Jesus, at your passion a sword of sorrow pierced the loving heart of your mother as Simeon had foretold.  Grant that we who look back on her sorrows with compassion might receive the healing fruits of your sufferings. Amen.

V. SIMON OF CYRENE HELPS JESUS TO CARRY THE CROSS

On their way out, they came across someone from Cyrene, Simon by name, and enlisted him to carry Jesus' cross.  When they had reached a place called Golgotha, that is the place of the skull, they gave Jesus wine to drink mixed with gall, which Jesus tasted but refused to drink.

St. Matthew 27:32-34

Who carries your cross?  In the Passion, it is not Jesus who requests that Simon carry his cross – “they … enlisted him”.  It is, when you think about it, an amazing glimpse of mercy on the part of someone, that Jesus should be given this respite from his suffering.  Or perhaps it was not mercy at all, but sheer practicality and efficiency that motivated them to draft Simon to carry the cross. 

Who carries your cross?  There are others who choose to carry our loads.  I recently made a trip to Denver, Colorado to bury my Aunt Louise.  My mother and one of my sisters accompanied me.  It was not a happy time – another aunt, unhappy that I was no longer in a more conservative Lutheran Church, and equally unhappy that I was so out about my homosexuality would not allow a hymn I had written to be sung at my aunt’s funeral, nor would she allow me to serve in any capacity at the ceremony.  In spite of my older aunt’s explicit wishes – written down for her survivors to see – that this hymn among others should be sung, the directive was ignored.

The next day, at coffee, I discovered how hurt and angry my mother was.  I, who had been told by her that we would disagree about gay issues, suddenly realized that she had been carrying my cross for a long time – in spite of her difficulties with my life.  She took it up freely and boldly.  I am no victim, such as our Lord was.  I do, however, like all of you, have things that I bear in silence.  My mother was suddenly my Simon, and my load was equally lightened.  What a blessing!

Prayer:

Lord Jesus Christ, help us to see in the sufferings and shortcomings of our lives a share in your cross; strengthen and console us in the belief that we bear all things in union with you, who have taken upon yourself even our guilt. Amen.

VI: JESUS IS AIDED BY VERONICA

'Lord, when did we see you hungry, and feed you; or thirsty, and give you drink?  And when did we see you a stranger, and take you in; or naked, and clothe you?  Or when did we see you sick, or in prison and come to you?'  And answering, the ruler of all will say to them, 'Amen, I say to you, as long as you did it for one of these, the least of my brothers or sisters, you did it for me.'

St. Matthew 25:37-40

This is such a wonderful legend-story in the Stations of the Cross.  Veronica seeks to honor and serve Jesus by wiping his sweaty and bloody brow, as Jesus makes his way to Calvary.  The piece of cloth that Veronica uses to wipe Jesus’ brow is soon imprinted with his image – a prequel to that other cloth in Turin!

So who and what is Veronica?  Is she only a lucky follower who ends up with a souvenir following her attendance at the events of the Passion?  Or, is she the image herself?

Once while walking in a Palm Sunday Procession around the gritty block that holds St. Francis Church, another member walking with me commented that this action didn’t seem to have the spiritual punch that he had expected.  “Seeing all these cigarette butts and pieces of newspaper scattered on the street doesn’t make for good liturgy,” he said.  I reminded him that the disciples kicked at the first century equivalent of cigarette butts and newspapers as they made their way.  It is the ordinary character of things that surround our life in Christ that makes the whole experience extraordinary.

So back to Veronica – wiping the face of a condemned criminal.  Was it only Jesus’ face that she wiped?  Were the others treated to the same consideration?  And the image on the cloth – was that the miracle?  Or is the miracle that this simple woman embodied, indeed became the image, of the Christ who anoints all with mercy and healing.  This ordinary act of kindness is transmogrified into a veritable icon of Christ’s holiness and service. Holy Veronica, lead us to serve as well!

Prayer:

Almighty and ever-loving God, we feel your love and understanding in the consolation and support we receive from one another.  Give us, we ask you, the courage and dedication to sacrifice and suffer with those who are in need, the least of your people. Amen.

VII: JESUS FALLS THE SECOND TIME

When he arrived at the place he said to them, "Pray that you may not undergo the test." After withdrawing about a stone's throw from them, and kneeling, he prayed, saying, "Father, if you are willing, take this cup away from me; still, no my will but yours be done."

St. Luke 22:40-42

The anonymous soul who pulled the materials together for this liturgical exercise of the Stations of the Cross understood humanity, and in that understanding of humanity had a profound glimpse of godliness.  When you read the ancient myths you are struck by the human qualities of the Greek and Sumerian goddesses and gods.  Hungry, petty, egoistic, pouting, these figures for all that the ancient world wanted to control and understand were notable in their similarity to us. 

In our rush to understand Jesus, we have either painted him in the guise of our next-door neighbor and buddy, or we’ve painted him as the sovereign of heaven, the Pantocrator, the creator and ruler of all.  Now, in this buddy-hero we suddenly see the one who has fallen – again.  It is not the princely ruler or the friendly companion that we see, but a fallen man.  It is a tonic to our overly friendly, or our overly other Jesus.  Jesus is the fallen one – and we’re not even at the cross yet.

If this indeed is an icon of Jesus that gets us in touch with heavenly realities then it may make us think again about the men who beg at the highway intersections, or the woman who waits (for what?) at the corner of Van Ness and Golden Gate Avenue.  They are fallen ones – how are they like the Christ?  How do they remind us of the Christ?  How are we fallen – and what is our spiritual failure?

The Jesus who falls may touch us more deeply that the Jesus who rises.  The Jesus who falls lives in the center of our own failures, and our own risings.

Prayer:

O Jesus Christ, you shared in our weaknesses and accepted our guilt.  Grant us the favor of rejoicing over our human weaknesses, so that in all we do, your strength, dwelling in us, may be shown to all others. Amen.

VIII: JESUS MEETS THE WOMEN OF JERUSALEM

Large numbers of people followed Jesus, and women too, who mourned and lamented.  But Jesus turned to them and said, 'Daughters of Jerusalem, do not weep for me; weep rather for yourselves and for your children.  For the days will surely come when people will say, "Happy are those who are barren, the wombs that have never borne, the breasts that have never sucked!" Then they will begin to say to the mountains, "Fall on us!” to the hills, "Cover us!"  For if green wood is used like this, what will happen when it is dry?"

St. Luke 23:27-31

These women were doing the socially appropriate thing.  In advance of the actual death, they mourned for Jesus.  They did what was expected, and it is always at that human junction that Jesus pokes through to the root of things and radicalizes the situation.

“Don’t weep for me…weep for yourselves!”  The death of Jesus is an icon for many things.  Our theology of cross and sacrifice have taken away other messages that the cross and passion may still have for us.  Jesus’ comment to the women is the comment of a person who truly understands the world.  It is not cynicism that drives this comment, but a clear understanding of the pervasiveness of evil or disorder in our world.  Our own Gordian knot is the complex situation that our history, greed, religion, and economy have created.  Good, innocent, and fine people are slaughtered every day, and good, innocent, and fine people become the unwitting agents for the slaughter.  Jesus reminds us not to worry about him – by rather to worry about our own kind.  The situation is so dire that the urge to propagate the species may even be abandoned.  

For what ought we weep in our culture and in our lives?  What in our Lent has distracted us from the suffering of the world, from the misery of the peoples, from the death of thousands?  The women at this station were doing the liturgically correct thing.  Jesus asks them to look at themselves, and the situation in which they live.  “Now weep!” he says.

Prayer:

Beloved Jesus, with tears of pity these women of Jerusalem responded to you, broken bruised and beaten, on the road to Calvary.  Deepen our faith, we beg you, so that we may see you in our brothers and sisters, bruised by our envy, beaten down by injustice, and broken by our greed and our indifference. Amen.

IX: JESUS FALLS THE THIRD TIME

Amen, amen, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains just a grain of wheat; but if it dies, it produces much fruit.

St. John 12:24

At one point in my life, I had gone down to Washington DC to speak with my bishop.  I had just gone through a divorce, was dealing with my own sexuality, was having a great deal of difficulty relating to my parishioners in south New Jersey, and I wanted out.  “It builds character!” the bishop said as I left his office, not receiving the move that I had hoped for.  I sought solace in a bar at Dupont Circle – but others saw through me and were put off by my essential sadness.  I tried to call friends.  Peter was out of town.  David was at a meeting.  Barton was working.  Lonely and afraid, I went to my car on the mall, got in, put the key in the ignition and began to weep – deeply weep.  I had fallen for the third time!

A therapist once said to me that such profound grief and sorrow was of benefit.  It was important to touch the deepest parts of our failure and sorrow.  Jesus falls the third time.  This should leave no doubt in our minds of the depth and suffering of this man.  Isaiah understood this situation, “someone of sorrows and acquainted with grief; and as one from whom others hide their faces this one was despised, and we esteemed this one not.”  This is not, I think, a part of the substitutionary punishment, but rather Jesus deeply knowing the world for which he would soon be the sacrifice.

This day, know your sorrow and grief as a place from which wisdom, understanding, and salvation can spring.  Like Jesus we may fall, but like Jesus we shall rise…become new.

Prayer:

Almighty God, Jesus our Savior suffered at human hands and endured the shame of the cross.  Grant that we may walk in the way of the cross and find it the way of life and peace; through Jesus Christ. Amen.

X:  JESUS IS STRIPPED OF HIS CLOTHING

They gave Jesus wine to drink mixed with gall; but when Jesus had tasted it, he would not drink.  Than after they had crucified Jesus, they divided his clothes, casting lots, to fulfill what was spoken through the prophet:

"They divided my clothes among them,

and upon my garments they cast lots.”

St. Matthew 27:34-35

Remember the poor widow of whom Jesus makes an example when the disciples see her giving a meager offering in the temple?  Jesus praises her for she gave her all as an offering.  It is this sense of offering all that ought to capture our imagination as we observe this station. 

Cynics will look at the action of the officers dividing the garment, as a psychological game; a placing of Jesus into a position of shame and humiliation.  Remember, these are the same ones who offered Jesus the false dignity of the purple robe and the crown of thorns.  Jesus gives all of this up: pride, dignity, stature, modesty – it is all given up and more.  The officers overseeing the crucifixion divide Jesus garment.  In St. John’s Gospel, this garment is described as being of one piece, “woven from top to bottom.”  Therefore they cast lots, so that they wouldn’t have to divide it, thus destroying its value.  It was probably the one thing of value that Jesus has – and it is given up.  Jesus saw in the widow what he was soon to do.

From this position of shame, humiliation, and defeat, Jesus reigns.  The sign that Pilate has posted above his head makes the point, but with tongue in cheek.  Jesus is the ruler and sovereign, whether naked on the cross, kneeling at this disciples feet, or born of the Virgin.  Whatever dignities were granted him are passed to others.  Now I wonder, what must I pass on, or give up, to reclaim my dignity?

Prayer:

O Jesus Christ, stripped of everything, you stood exposed to the jeers and contempt of the people whom you loved.  Clothe us with genuine love of others, so that nothing we suffer may ever fill our hearts with hatred or bitterness. Amen.

XI: JESUS IS NAILED TO THE CROSS

When they reached the place called The Skull, they crucified Jesus there and the two criminals also, one on the right, the other on the left.  Jesus said, 'Father, forgive them; they do not know what they are doing.'

St. Luke 23:33-34, St. John 19:18

In some churches, during the Eucharistic Prayer, just after the consecration of the elements, each of them is lifted up (at the Elevation) and bells are rung.  Why?  To capture us and to bring us from what ever prayers, and praise, or more mundane things have arrested us during this prayer and to concentrate our minds on this one point in time and space – to make us aware of Christ’s presence with us in the Eucharist.  The Lord of all who is “with us always until the end of the age” is now here, or there, or there.  At this point we can touch, take and receive, and envelop the living Christ.

Please don’t think me ludicrous or comic by noting that the soldiers nailing Jesus on the cross and then raising him up, function almost as priests – raising up the crucified Christ for all to receive and to know.  Theirs was a job, I’m sure, with no such fine intents, but the outcome is still the same.  Jesus is lifted up for all to see and to adore, ponder, sorrow, praise, or wonder.  I am always reminded of the passage from the Gospel of Saint John, “and I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all men to myself."  It is a curious notion that such a hideous sight would be worth looking at, or attractive.  This suffering man, however, draws all from whatever they are doing or thinking, and invites each person to ponder their salvation. 

In the traditional rites that surround the Elevation, the priest would raise the host, the bells would be rung, and the thurifer would swing the pot of sweet incense toward the elevated host.  Here, now, God is fixed in time, and comes to us again.

Prayer:

O Christ, our Savior, you have told us that we too must accept crucifixion if we are to accept resurrection with you.  Help us to rejoice in the sufferings that come with the fulfillment of our daily duties, seeing in them the royal road of the cross to the resurrection. Amen.

XII: JESUS DIES ON THE CROSS

It was now about the sixth hour and, with the sun eclipsed, darkness came over the whole land until the ninth hour.  The veil of the temple was torn right down the middle; and when Jesus had cried out in a loud voice, he said, 'It is finished. Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.' With these words Jesus breathed his last.

St. Luke 23:44-46, St. John 19:30b

Whenever I have seen this station, unless the stations are extremely simple, Jesus is always depicted on “an inhabited cross”.  Certainly the cross is inhabited by him (an interesting home!) but by two others as well.  On the left is Our Lady – Mary who comes now to ponder the death of her son.  On the right is the Beloved Disciple, John.  Mother and the loved one are the ones who observe and attend to down to the very end.  In the Gospel of Saint Luke, Simeon, at the Presentation of Jesus, says to Mary, “and a sword shall pierce your heart as well.”  I suspect there were many swords that pierced Mary’s heart, swords of misunderstanding, or hatred, or disbelief, or a sense of abandonment.  None of these swords, however, would match the power of witnessing her son’s death. 

And John, what must he have been thinking, newly charged with taking care of Mary?  What had been created here?

I am struck that the death of Jesus is witnessed by both family and family of choice.  This event is not owned by just one group, or just one family, but by the family of Jesus mother, and the family that Jesus chose.  “Were you There?” the hymn asks.  We can answer “yes”, in the person of John, for we are members of the family of choice, the ones picked to witness this moment when a new heaven and a new earth is created. 

Prayer

O God, who for our redemption gave your only Begotten One to the death of the cross, and by a glorious resurrection delivered us from the power of our enemy; grant us so to die daily from sin, that we may evermore live with Jesus in the joy of the resurrection; through the same Christ. Amen.

XIII: JESUS IS TAKEN DOWN FROM THE CROSS

When the soldiers came to Jesus, they saw that he was already dead so that they did not break his legs, but one of them opened his side with a lance, and immediately there came out blood and water.  Joseph of Arimathea, because he was a disciple of Jesus (although a secret one for fear of the Jews), besought Pilate that he might take away the body of Jesus.  And Pilate gave permission.

St. John 19:33-34, 38a

I am always fascinated by the phrase that Joseph of Arimathea was a disciple “although a secret one for fear…” This phrase fascinates me because I think that I saw it in so many of the deaths that occurred in the late eighties and early nineties from AIDS.  I would be called to a hospital to visit a young man who at one point had been a Lutheran – and so I would go and begin my ministry with him.  More often than not, these young men would be ministered to by their mothers, the fathers coming only at the very last moment.  The fathers were parents too, “although secret ones for fear…”.  That the body of Jesus should be entrusted to a fearful disciple is a hope for all of us.  How many times have we backed away from confessing our belief, “for fear”?  Many of the gay women and men that I have worked with over the years have all admitted this need to come out as Christians to their gay friends.  Disciples, although secret ones!  And yet it is to these “fearful” ones that the body of Jesus is entrusted.

The beauty of the Gospel and of the Passion is that in them the little ones are lifted up, the marginalized are given great roles, and those that have been rejected by others are chosen.  What will you do with the body of Jesus?  Where will you enshrine it?  Reveal it?

Prayer:

O Jesus Christ, your death takes away the sting of death: grant to us the ability to follow in faith where you have led the way, so that we may finally fall asleep peacefully in you, and awake after your likeness; through your mercy, and in your name. Amen.

XIV: JESUS IS LAID IN THE TOMB

When it was evening, there came a rich man of Arimathea, called Joseph, who had himself become a disciple of Jesus.  This one went to Pilate and asked for the body of Jesus.  Pilate then ordered it to be handed over.  So Joseph took the body, wrapped it in a clean shroud and put it in a new tomb which had been hewn out of the rock.  Then a large stone was rolled across the entrance of the tomb, and Joseph went away.

St. Matthew 27:57-60

“And Joseph went away.”  The report is spare.  There is no grieving, no tears, no beating of the breast, no paid lamenting women; Joseph just goes away.  I suspect his is not the only one who did so.  Having made his honors to the body of Jesus he goes away, but so did the disciples, and all the others (excepting that very persistent Mary Magdalene). 

Bishop John Shelby Spong, in one of his books on reforming Christianity, talks about the Easter faith, and how it came to Peter up in Galilee.  If each of them had indeed “gone away”, then it was Jesus’ stunning action that was indeed a surprise to each of them.  There was no need to lay the body in the tomb, and then nervously wait.  Jesus was doing a new thing.  The story of what God does in Jesus is so out of the norm that it goes unrecognized by a great many.  Mary Magdalene thinks he’s the gardener.  The disciples think that the women who have seen the rolled-away-stone are crazy.  Thomas thinks they are all daft. 

All would have laid the body to rest and gone away.  The Easter faith and hope grew in a seedbed removed from the body.  It was nurtured in the sometimes misunderstood hope of the men and women who followed Jesus.  It grew in spite of the fear that enveloped each of them as they suddenly stood on Golgotha without their Lord.  It was acclaimed as the Spirit took hold and ushered in her own era.

The moving part of the Great Vigil of Easter is the long, drawn-out, Liturgy of the Word in which the whole of Salvation History is retold.  There is an intentional waiting that goes on.  It is really a rehearsal of clues and hints, of revelations and signs.  In the waiting and hearing, we begin to understand what resurrection is all about, and how it comes in our own waiting and wondering. 

It is good to lay our Lord to rest, go away, and wait. For we haven’t yet seen all that the Resurrected One brings to us.

Prayer:

O Jesus Christ, Only Begotten of the Living God, who (at this hour) rested in the sepulcher, and thereby sanctified the grave to be a bed of hope for your people, cause us to rise again and to live with you forever, who live and reign with the Most High and the Holy Spirit, one God, forever. Amen.

Ruth Caroline Terrass Hiller - Requiem

Yesterday, 10 February 2013, The Feast of the Transfiguration, we gathered to remember my mother, Ruth Caroline Terrass Hiller, at St. Paul Church in Oakland, California.  Here are a couple of photos, and a video of the Obituary and the Sermon that was preached on that day.

Rehearsing the Entrance Rite

Follow this link to see the Funeral Liturgy

The following videos are of the Obituary that was read, and the Sermon preached.  The sermon is in two separate files.

The Obituary and Sermon Part I

Sermon Part II

The Text of the Sermon follows:

“From Where will my Help Come“

Requiem Mass for Ruth Caroline Terrass Hiller

The Feast of the Transfiguration

10 October 2013

St. Paul Church, Oakland California

Wisdom 3:1-5, 9

Psalm 121

Revelation 7:9-17

St. John 10:11-16

INI

The Ancient Question

From age to age men and women have always had the psalmist’s question before them, “From where will my help come?”  The question at the heart of Psalm 121 also lies at the heart of our living, and our continuing in life.  My mother requested this psalm, and I suspect that it was both her concern and life question as well.  As our world expands, as we know more and more about what we are and from whence we have come; as we see farther than our fathers and mothers saw, and as we descend into the deep parts of existence, we wonder all the more about what our purpose is, and who will help us to accomplish it.  And then there is the simple question of why we are here today – what is our purpose in these ceremonies and words.  Is it death that gathers us today or something more than that?  “From where will my help come?”

The author of the Book of Wisdom is wrestling with large themes.  What is it about death?  Is the end really the ancient understanding of Sheol, a dark place of the dead, or is there something better – something more.  Then he trots out a bunch of words in which we can indeed find some level of help: peace, hope, blessedness, worthiness, understanding, abiding in love.  Are these answers for us this afternoon, and more importantly, are they answers for us as we leave this place, going back into the detail of our lives?  “From where will my help come.” 

For my mother, each of these states was something for which she yearned.  In her final days she was earnestly seeking peace, and had a strong sense of hope.  Her sense of self was that she was truly blessed in her marriage to Carl, her husband whom she continued to grieve, and blessed in the presence of her children.  Her attachment to her family, especially her husband, shines in a text that she asked be read as a lesson.  It is so short that we did not include it as a reading, but I include it here as an insight into her soul.

“So Jacob served seven years for Rachel, yet they seemed to him like a few days because of his love for her.” (Genesis 29:20)

She sought a worthiness of life from her religious life that provided for her an understanding of life itself.  In all of these things she abided with God in love.  They were her answers to the ancient question.

An On-going Curse.

Just below the surface in Wisdom’s hope and dialogue about what it means to be alive is the real question of death.  The author wrestles with big questions:  suffering, death, the torments of life, and destruction.  This makes a great deal of sense since the book probably comes to us out of the experience of the Jewish Diaspora, the questions and musings of a people who had left the land of promise, learning to live in a new place, with different ideas.  “From where will my help come?”

Our time changes so quickly and so completely.  When I look at what has been accomplished during the span of my mother’s life I am stunned by all of the change.  For many such change is a joy and a positive aspect about life.  For others change is death in disguise, as civilization hurtles toward an unknown destination.  Think about your attitudes about life.  If you are young then all is possible.  As you age those possibilities begin to diminish, and death becomes more and more visible.

Our age cannot fathom death, and seeks actively to avoid it.  In dealing with the lovely people at the Funeral Home and the Cemetery, I began to be aware of all the exquisite means that were taken to have me avoid death.  It is not only in circumstances such as this, with the death of our mother, that we see death lurking, but also in other matters of life.  Have you ever lost a job or been threatened with its loss? – death.  Have you lost your home or value in your investments? – death.  Have your career goals or life goals been diverted or lost? – death.  Has a look in the mirror reminded you that all is not suppleness and beauty? – death.  Our culture’s answer to this question has been one of denial.  “From where will my help come?”

Resting Assured

The Wednesday before she died, I had lunch with my mother.  As her world continued to implode around her, I sought to find points of interest that would spark a conversation with her.  It was a question about the death of her parents that brought both tears and light to her eyes.  She remembered them in faith.  She delighted in the ordinary things that they did and brought to her life.  She saw Christ in them and hope in them.  And then she wept – taking in her loss, but still having hope. 

I love the question that the Seer, the Divine, is asked by the Elder in Revelation, “Who are these?”  I also like the passage from Hebrews 12:

Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us rid ourselves of every burden and sin that clings to us^* and persevere in running the race that lies before us while keeping our eyes fixed on Jesus, the leader and perfecter of faith.

Both of these viewpoints have an awareness of death that moves beyond what our culture and time would have us believe.  It is as the words of the Requiem sharply state, “In the midst of life we are in death” which is followed by the question, “of whom may we seek succor?”  “From where will my help come?” In Hebrews the help comes from the example of the witnesses that so thickly surround us – both dead and living.  We are in a great community that has experienced both death and life.  We are in a community of hope.  What we do here today centers our hope on the Jesus who leads us on and feeds us with life.  It also centers on this community – those who have gathered here, and those who gathered with us in heart and mind to stare down death and to accept the life that is offered to us.

The Gospel for today speaks of a Jesus who knows us.  We struggle, at times, to know ourselves, and to know those about us.  The image of hope here is that there is one who knows us completely, and accepts us completely.  This is a hope that is not a reaction to death alone but to the business of living as well.  Perhaps it is an answer to the question, “From where is my help to come?”

Sometime on the cusp of Sunday and Monday, Ruth awoke, and turned on a light.  It was then that she reached out to continue her life.  She arose, she collapsed onto her knees, and in a posture of prayer she died.  “From where is my help to come?”  In this she serves as an example of how to always be not only accepting of life, but also reaching out for it.  It is also an example of accepting death, rest, and peace. 

In our meal, this afternoon, both the one at the altar, and the one that follows in the  undercroft, let us accept that we are known of God, and that God comes to us in ordinary things, and events, to be our help, our grace, our life.  And then, like Ruth, let us turn on a light – a light for others to see and with which we can see others in their need.  “From where will my help come?”

SDG

An Evening with Helmie at the Barnes - 9 November 2012

Hermine (Helmie) Kirschbaum is an old friend of mine for some thirty-four years.  We like talking about books, theology, Germany, and life in general.  Whenever I'm back East I make a point of seeing her.  This evening we had a very special visit to the Barnes Foundation in Philadelphia.  The building itself is stunning, forming a new holding gallery for the collection formerly housed in Merion, Pa.

The approach at night is quite breathtaking, with the upper "clerestory" lighted and floating above a mass of chiseled stone, pierced by windows and massive walnut doors.  The enterior galleries, not attempting to mimic the Merion galleries are bright, expansive and suffused with light.  The night we were there a jazz band was playing and people were enjoying a light supper and drinks in addition to the treasures in the galleries.

Dr. Barnes was an enthusiastic and almost obsessive collector, but more about that later.  The collection is framed, if you will on each wall in each room in a symmetrical display that are seemingly chosen at the whim or taste of the collector.  That is the delight or the disturbing nature of both the collection and the display.

A couple of years ago, before meeting Arthur in Berlin, I spent a week in Florence with two separate trips to the Uffizi.  It was there and then that I discovered that I had a distinct distaste for Botticelli.  My visit to the Barnes confirmed my distaste for Renoir.  It seemed that each room had at least four if not more.  The balloon like bodies and "sausage fingers" (Helmie's description) and the pastel pallet have always put me off.  Apparently Dr. Barnes had a great affection for Renoir's work, for the collection is full of his canvases, prints, drawings, and etchings.  However, I proceed too quickly.  I forgot to mention that each wall is assembled in an ensemble, a symmetrical display of disparate elements.  Unlike the Tate Modern which uses the same technique of displaying disparate works, here the elements don't have much to say to each other.  There are simply too many, and the room is a cacophony of color, light, mass, technique, and period.

There are some real delights, however.  I have always enjoyed Prendergast, and there are plenty examples of his work.  His color and imprecise brush strokes make for a wonderful experience for the eye.  And there were some favorites as well.

There are plenty of Picasso's as well, representing most of the periods, but this Arlequino is one of my favorites.  I like the distraction of both of the subjects, each looking off to their own horizon.  The younger seems to mirror the face of a young boy whose portrait we have at home in Paul Gibson's An Angel from Heaven.

It is the detachment from the surroundings, and the fascination with what is out of sight of the viewer that seems so engaging to me.  But there were other things to see.  Lots of Cézanne, Matisse, Modigliani, Braque, and Chirico are there to greet you.  Of special interest are all the Rousseau that are complimented by primitive icons, retablos from Mexico, and American primitives.  One painter, that I had not heard of before or didn't remember was Charles Demuth.  His clipped and precise watercolors were enchanting.

There were some Goya, a wonderful Redon, and several Lipchitz sculptures.  Scattered amongst all of this was Dürer, Cranach, and anonymous German woodcarvings.  Another new name from me was that of Soutine, whose canvases reminded me of Emile Nolde, with their almost harsh pallet and brush stokes, and their powerful story.  

This particular canvas reminded me of a Francis Bacon or Lucien Freud - life with a touch of horror, or a looking beyond the surface.  All in all, it became too much.  I suspect that one has to come back and focus on a few works and avoid the rest, for the time being.  There were several candidates for further study, and there were also those canvases that invited dismissal.  As I observed to Arthur when viewing all the canvases at the Stein Collection at SFMOMA, not all the Matisse that she bought were good.  My advice at the Barnes - pick and choose - and then enjoy.

More Jam - Thursday and Friday - 14-15 June 2012

In Search of...

Thursday is the last day of the conference and it concludes with a concelebrated mass at All Saints C of E near the Spanish Steps.  A choir from Durham, England is in residence, so our mass has beauty of song, as well as word and sacrament.  It's both lovely and sad, having made new friends, it is difficult to part with them.  Following the mass, Lizette and I go and have lunch somewhere along Santa Croce.  And then we part ways.  I have writing and shopping to do, as does she.  We agree to meet the next day at Piazza Navona.

And so we do at a café near the Neptune group.  We have coffee and talk about the Society and its role in the church.  We also talk about Navona, and the wonderful shops that surround it.  We decide to go to see the Basilica of Saint Laurence outside the Walls.  This means that we have to navigate getting there, which involves a bus trip to Termini, and then by foot to the church, which I remember as being close.  It is not, but on the way we pass Porto Maggiore, and the remains of its aqueduct and ancillary buildings.  Nearby is Santa Croce in Jerusalem, but we resist the temptation, and wend our way to San Lorenzo.


Finally I do something I never do.  I ask directions from a passing priest, and he supplies them, sort of.  It's still some distance, because, unknown to us, we are not taking the hypotenuse of the triangle.  When we get there it's closed.  So its off to lunch in a little restaurant that Barton and I visited in 1989.

So it's the cemetery that we will do.  We wander around and fine wonderful things, such as the Cappuchin tower that marks the spot of their cenotaph and chapel.  I had always thought that it was Fransiscan, and empty.  Now it appears to be finished and honoring another order.

Most of the tombs are Nineteenth Century, and are of a similar nature, but some really stand out.  Here, not in the city itself, I can find Secessionist buildings, such as in the picture to the left.  This had almost a Mayan effect, others were more brutal, or highly ornamented in a stylized way.

Soon our hours pass and its time for Saint Laurence, so we go next door.  The purpose of the cemetery is, Lizette thinks, to be buried in proximity of the saint.  The church is surrounded by the cemetery, and the church is cut into the hill upon which the cemetery is located.

It's a delight to see this fourth century church, magnificent in its simplicity.  There have been some restorations and changes, but not to the extent that we witnessed at Saints Peter and Paul.  Here one gets the effect that early Christian pilgrims would have experienced.  There is wonderful inlay both in the floors, but also in the Paschal Candlestand, the Ambo, and the Pulpit.  Beautiful!  I especially like the ciborium over the altar.  We go down to the crypt, but most of it is gated and locked.  Lizette tries each one, but to no avail.

The portico is painted with the life of the saint, and there are several pagan and Christianized sarcophagi both inside and out.  We linger and linger - it is a magical place.

Finally it is time to go.  We grab a bus into Rome, hoping to get to Santa Maria Maggiore before it closes.  I make a mistake and we get off too early, so we stop for a drink and walk the rest of the "Processional Way".  It is closed when we get there, but Lizette has two more days here.

I notice up beyond the baroque porch a mosaic that I had never seen before.  It is quite beautiful.  We decide to part ways.  I am really tired, and Lizette needs her time as well.  It has been a very special thing to spend a day with her, especially in this context.

I take a cab back to Campo fiori, and go to the hotel to rest and to write.  At nine I go out to have dinner: amuse bouche of lentils, and a separate plate of olives and mozzarella in cream, carciofi alla romana, timbale con fungi, angel, and fruita di bosco con gelato.


I go back to pack and to rest.  Tomorrow is home!

Arrividerci Roma!

Audience - Wednesday, 13 June 2012

What is a catholic?

It's the American's turn to celebrate Mass, so Lizette presides, I serve as deacon, and John and Barry read and serve at the communion.  To do this I had to lug my alb and stole across town, but got to walk across Rome in my cassock.  We have to queue up for the audience, and it was somewhat like boarding a LOT flight - every man for himself.  We were led to believe the Audience was particular, but now it is general but at least in doors.  It is very hot.  The one bishop present is soon whisked away to sit in the front row.  We are several seats back but toward the front of the hall.

The "new" audience hall was built by Paul VI, and the architect, I believe, was Pier Paolo Nervi (who was consulting architect on St. Mary's Cathedral in San Francisco).  The hall is huge, seating several thousand people, and at the same time its monumentality becomes almost home-like and intimate.  Right across from us are pilgrims from Vera Cruz, Mexico - they are all done up and have a band.  They are a big hit.  We sit there for a good 45 minutes waiting for the audience to begin, as various groups get up and treat us to music, bands, choirs, small orchestras.  There is an excitement in the air.

Finally, an "organ" sounds, large doors open and in walks the Pope accompanied by Masters of Ceremony, assistants, monsignor, and assorted bishops.  I must say, I was overwhelmed.  Although I find some, if not many of this Pope's policies to be difficult and downright wrong, the enthusiasm of the room sweeps me off my feet.  His greeting to the "clergy men from Southwark Diocese" (they couldn't bring themselves to say The Society of Catholic Priests) is heartfelt, and blessings are offered.  The women in are group are amused to be called "clergymen."  This is an aspect of the Roman Church that all outside of her seem unable to make happen - the embrace of a large segment of the world.  Several language groups are greeted, mentioned, blessed with a little homily and prayer.  It is as overwhelming as is the room itself.

Afterwards we retreat back to our neighborhood, just a block away, and have a very bad lunch at a local bar.  I cab back to my hotel and get rid of alb and cassock.  Later in the afternoon we board a bus and go to the palazzo dori pamphilli where the Anglican Center is located.  The director and his wife graciously greet our group and regale us with "nibbles" and drinks.  It is very enjoyable.  The director is also the Archbishop of Canterbury's personal representative to the Holy See.  Thus David has a very interesting perspective.

Earlier in the day, the director of the Anglican Desk at the Vatican filled us in on ecumenical "progress", such as it is.  It seems that the ordination of women, and the consecration of Gene Robinson has halted any substantial progress, however new talks are slated to begin.  For me it's a glimpse into a new world that surrounds the larger question of what it means to be catholic.  It is good to be in a community that takes the topic seriously.

Earlier in the day, Louis, a priest from Essex, invited me to dinner, and so we leave the reception and have a lovely dinner in the warren of streets west of piazza Navonna.  It is quiet, there are trees and stars, and the menu is quite good.  We talk about what it means to be gay, to be priests, and to be in relationships with understanding and wonderful men.  I have made a new friend.

Later I realize that it is the 41st anniversary of my ordination.  How perfect!

Jam - Monday and Tuesday, 11-12 June 2012

Mixing it up!

With the rising of the Monday sun, I spend some time writing, because I shall have to troop over to the Vatican, or near it for the conference.  I grab a late breakfast, or an early lunch and make my way across the Ponte Sisto, and walk up the Trastevere side up to the Burgo Santo Spiritu, aside the Bernini columns and to the Residenza, where the conference will be held.  It's a slow start and my introverted side is in full gallop.  Slowly I meet fellow priests from the UK, North America and from Australia.  There is small talk and water out on the terrace.

The sessions begin at three and there is a wonderful series of Bible Studies on Paul and Romans by Dr. Paula Gooder.  She has a unique perspective and I shall want to read more of her work.  After Evening Prayer all 90 of troop over to a small restaurant across the street, where the food is quite good, and the conversation difficult due to noise.  After desert I make my good-byes and walk back to Campo.

On Tuesday we begin the day with Eucharist, celebrated by the Autralians.  That is followed by more Bible Study, however, the main event of the day is a trip to Ostia antic, the ancient port city of Rome.  I took Anna there in 2000, and was anxious to go back.  Many call it Pompeii in a part - it's so lush around the ruins.  We take a bus by the airport and then to the site.  It is a lot of walking, but such delights to see, especially if you are into ruins (which I totally am).  The capitol, above is wonderful, and across the corso is the forum with wonderful temples and baths.  There is a stop for lunch and drinks (it is very hot).

When we see the interior workings of the heated rooms at the baths, see the picture to the right, I am reminded of a comment I heard from an American woman on the Palatine the other day.  "The were really a horrible people," she said, but I guess that they did have their inventive side."  What a simplistic view of this culture that was laid out before us today.  Marvelous buildings, warehouses, offices, tenements, bakeries, plumbing and theaters all spoke to a vibrant and diverse culture.  A horrible people, indeed!

We walk past a Jewish synagogue, a Mithraum, and more temples than you can shake a stick at.  There is one nymphaeum that was turned into a Christian church at one point.  Such a jam of institutions.  50,000 people lived here, managing the traffic of trade that entered and left ancient Rome.

My fellow tourists are surprised by the mosaics, which are all black stone set into white.  The example from another set of baths is pictured below, but in the office area of the port, there was a mosaic in front of each office which indicated the enterprise inside.

We make our way back to the buses.  There is more to see back in Rome.

As we enter Rome we go to visit the Abbey of Tre Fontone.   This is a cult site centered on the execution of St. Paul, and consists of three Churches, on abbatial where the monks (Trappists) are singing evening prayer, and one the site of imprisonment (what happened to the Mamartine?) and the third the site of the execution (the head bounced three times).  

My camera has used up all its juice, so I am left camera-less at St. Peter's and Paul's outside the Walls.  Decimated by a huge fire in the latter part of the Nineteenth Century, it was rebuilt, and is a shadow of its ancient self.  The new church is overblown, although there are a couple of interesting features, the ciborium over the altar, and the paschal candle stand, which both seemed to have survived the fire (although Lizette and I are not certain about the ciborium).  There is an "ecumenical" Evensong with the Benedictines, although we don't get to meet them.  It is accompanied by a wheezing organ that needs a great deal of love.  

Upon return, Lizette and I decide to walk to Trastevere to have dinner.  It's a long walk, but there is a delightful conversation.  Along the way we pass St. Egidio Church which was home to the St. Egidio Community.  Started as a protest to the closure of their church, the people of this parish began lay-led services coupled with a social outreach (feeding programs, pro bono legal work, and the like).  The group is now so large that they meet for Evening Prayer at Santa Maria in Trastevere.  We go in for the last few moments of their praying, and the church is packed.  

I don't remember what I had for dinner, but I do remember a rich conversation, and a side conversation with some young people from Chile, who were studying in Germany. Lizette shared our half bottle of wine with them.  I put Lizette into a cab, and I walked across the Ponte Sisto to return home.  What a day.

Hungry - Sunday 10 June 2012

J. P. Morgan

It's Sunday and after looking at the website for All Saint's Church (C of E) and St. Paul's inside the Walls (Episcopal) I decide on the later.  Unfortunately, The Bishop for Europe has gathered all the rectors in some schloß in München, and has asked that all the parishes have lay-led liturgies.  That means that there is no Eucharist this morning, and I am disappointed.  We read through Morning Prayer, and after it is over I meet other clergy who are attending the SCP conference.

The building, built by J.P. Morgan with major decorations by Edward Burne-Jones, a pre-Raphaelite favorite of mine, is quite lovely.  The apse and the double arches that stand in front of it are filled with mosaic of his design.  They are profound, colorful, and awe-inspiring.  The picture on the right shows the tile work that faces the walls of the nave - quite lovely.  The organ isn't bad and they have an ambitious choir and music program.  One member did tell me, however, that they are tired of Vivaldi (The Four Seasons) but the tourists love it.

Since I'm only a couple of blocks away, I run over to Santa Maria Maggiori, one of the stational churches of Rome.  The mosaics there are magnificent.  When I get there, mass is still being celebrated; so I walk across the street to have lunch.  I'm wearing my collar, and soon find out that in some respects this town can be quite unfriendly to sacerdos.  They refuse to wait on me.  Miffed, I walk to a restaurant nearby and have a caprese.  Back in the church I take a few photos and then proceed up the street.  My goal is to see if the church at Quattro fontane is open.  It isn't

My goal is the museum at Palazzo Barberini, and on my way there I notice a Mussolini building next door.  Three window panel each depict a separate aspect of Rome:  Justice, Fascism, and the Church.  You can see the one depicted as a panel between the two windows that are over the main entrance to the building.  I like the lines, and the statements are unambiguous, if not arrogant.  Interesting, though.  I go into the palazzo.  Only three rooms are open to the public - "Staff shortage".  I decline, and continue up to the Spanish Steps, making a sharp left right before the steps and descend the piazza next to the Spanish Steps.  There is the restaurant alla Rampa, a favorite of mine that I visit every time I am here.  Lunch is vitello tonnato, risotto con fungi, and a panna cotta alla arancia.  It was excellent.

From there I wander home, still a bit tired from my excursion to the Forum and the Palatine Hill.  My feet are feeling it.

I find this little church (little only in Rome) dedicated to the Virgin, where the nuns are singing Evensong.  It is delightful hearing them voice the office and psalter.  I sit for a few minutes and drink it all in.  In time I get up and go to my hotel, and collapse.  Tomorrow will be a busy day.