Garrett-Evangelical Theological Seminary

Saturday, April 3

By Dennis Adams (G-E, 2007), Pastor St. Peter's & Faith UMC, Evansville, Indiana

Jesus' Baptism by John. Chapel of the Unnamed Faithful. Photo by Al Caldwell.

Reflection for Holy Saturday 2010

A week before Christmas in 2007, after a four-year struggle with cancer, my 27-year-old son Matthew died. He was at home with his wife and family around him. And if such a thing is possible, he died with great dignity. Matthew had left instructions that the music at his funeral was to be "church music" from the hymnal, the songs he loved to sing on Sunday mornings when he was a teenager. We opened the service with "How Great Thou Art." When we began to sing the third verse - "And when I think that God, his Son not sparing, sent him to die, I scarce can take it in," - I was overwhelmed by my own pain and for the first time began to comprehend God's pain on that dark Saturday in Jerusalem.

Matthew was baptized as an infant and was confirmed in the faith as a teenager. As an adult, however, he had little time for church. But his faith and hope endured. When, near the end of his life, his sister challenged him, "How can you believe in a God who is doing this to you?" he said, "I just do."

From time to time on Sunday mornings, the pastor asks us to, "Remember your baptism and be thankful." Reading Romans 6:3-10, I remember Matthew's baptism and I am thankful to the very core of my being, for in his baptism, Matthew was united with Christ in death and I know he will be united with Christ in his resurrection. We ended Matthew's funeral with "Hymn of Promise."

In our end is our beginning; in our time, infinity;
In our doubt there is believing; in our life, eternity.
In our death, a resurrection; at the last a victory,
Unrevealed until its season, something God alone can see.

Friday, April 2

By Anne Ferguson, PhD Program and Dean of the Chapel

Jesus’ Baptism by John. Chapel of the Unnamed Faithful. Photo by Al Caldwell.

Therefore, my friends, since we have confidence to enter the sanctuary by the blood of Jesus,20 by the new and living way that he opened for us through the curtain, (that is, through his flesh),21 and since we have a great priest over the house of God,22 let us approach with a true heart in full assurance of faith with our hearts sprinkled clean from an evil conscience and our bodies washed with pure water. 23 Let us hold fast to the confession of our hope without wavering, for he who has promised is faithful..24 And let us consider how to provoke one another to love and good deeds. Not neglecting to meet together, as is the habit of some; but encouraging one another and all the more as you see the Day approaching.
(Hebrews 10:19-25)

Have you ever considered how very bizarre intercessory prayer is?

First of all, why on earth would God listen to our requests? Presumably, God has a plan for this world and for all of the people in it. Also, presumably, that plan is working itself out by God's own power, and will inevitably end in the way that God has in mind. So what makes us think that our endless pleas will make any difference?

Second, where do we get the nerve? Who are we to suggest that perhaps God ought to arrange things differently from the way they now are? Do we not trust in God's providence? Do we really think that we know better?

And yet, scripture advises us to pray. We are invited to bring our cares and concerns and needs to God, and to ask that they be addressed, notwithstanding all of our theology about God's omniscience and omni-benevolence. The church has always prayed for the needs of the world, and for hundreds of years that ministry of prayer has been the central feature of the church's worship on Good Friday. On this day, we kneel "at the foot of the cross," and voice the pleas of the poor, the sick, the imprisoned, the oppressed, the victimized of every nation.

In his incarnation, his ministry, and certainly in his death, Christ revealed that God stands with the victims of this world: with the poor, the outcast, the forgotten, the prisoners, the subjugated, the wounded, the refugees. We do not pray to a God who is loftily above the pain and squalor of this world, but to a God who was incarnate, and experienced nearly every humiliation that human life has to offer.

The author of Hebrews says that we enter the sanctuary by the blood of Jesus, and that the way was opened for us through his flesh. Christ did not stand at some antiseptic distance from the mortifications that flesh is heir to, he entered into them fully, and drank the cup of suffering to its dregs.

There is so very little that most of us can actually do to relieve the suffering of the world. We do not hold power in the councils of nations; we do not control vast amounts of wealth; we cannot stop a hurricane or an earthquake. But, for reasons beyond our understanding, God has promised to listen to our pleas. Never forget that you have a ministry of intercession, and never doubt that the One who hears the needs of the world from your lips understands the pain of which you speak.

Thursday, April 1

By Sara L. Isbell (Trustee, '03 Alum MDiv) Pastor, Chatham United Methodist Church, Chatham Illinois

“The Last Supper.” Chapel of the Unnamed Faithful. Photo by Al Caldwell.

For I received from the Lord what I also passed on to you: The Lord Jesus, on the night he was betrayed, took bread,24 and when he had given thanks, he broke it and said, This is my body, which is for you; do this in remembrance of me.25 In the same way, after supper he took the cup, saying, This cup is the new covenant in my blood; do this, whenever you drink it, in remembrance of me.26 For whenever you eat this bread and drink this cup, you proclaim the Lord's death until he comes. (I Corinthians 11:23-26)

Do this in remembrance of me. Remember your baptism. Remember... What does it mean to remember, to eat and drink, to live, in remembrance of Jesus Christ? I, like many of you, was baptized as an infant and so I do not "remember" my baptism. I was not present at the Last Supper to hear Jesus speak those words, and so I cannot "remember" him saying anything at all.

But faith that is lived, not out of memorization or reconstruction, but out of relationship, knows what it means to remember. Living in remembrance of Christ means living with him, for him, because of him, every day. Living into my baptism means living into, and up to, the promises that were made on my behalf. It is like the way I "remember" my marriage and motherhood. I may have forgotten details of my wedding, but I live each day like I know I am married. I may have blocked out the pain of childbirth, but every day I call my children by name, and I claim them as my own. These are not just events I remember happening: these are relationships that have forever changed my life and my identity.

“Jesus’ Baptism by John.” Chapel of the Unnamed Faithful. photo by Al Caldwell.

It is said that Martin Luther found hope in difficult circumstances when he stood at the basin to wash his face each morning, and looking at himself in the mirror, said aloud, "I am baptized!" Not, "I was one time baptized," or "I have been baptized," but "I am baptized!" Now, and forever. Remembering who he was, and to whom he still belonged, gave him hope and purpose.

I've been trying that recently, whenever I wash my hands. I try to imagine that the water from the tap is washing away not only dirt from my hands, but my regrets, faults and failings, as well, and I say to myself, "I am baptized! I am part of the Body of Christ!" And when I break bread, I try hearing again Jesus' words, "Whenever you eat this bread and drink this cup, you proclaim the Lord's death until he comes." My daily routines become moments of re-membering and re-claiming him, until he comes again.

Holy Thursday is, as they say, "a day to remember" - a day to remember him, and to remember that we are part of him. Many of us will wash one another's feet, or hands, this evening, and offer one another the bread and cup. These are acts not simply of recollection, but of relationship. May they remind us that we are part of each other - part of the Body of Christ.

Wednesday, March 31

By Neal F. Fisher, President Emeritus & Senior Scholar in Theology

The Epistle Text for Wednesday of Holy Week

Jesus’ Baptism by John. Chapel of the Unnamed Faithful. Photo by Al Caldwell.

Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us. 2 Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. (Hebrews 12: 1-2)

"Looking to Jesus"

In Holy Week, the disciples faltered. Some of the first readers of this text had done the same. The point was to endure.

If we falter, it is not for want of role models in the faith. Our author in earlier paragraphs has reminded us of men and women whose examples of faith envelop us as a cloud. Having cited fifteen of the faithful by name, the writer of Hebrews runs out of time (11:32b) and must be content merely to recite the deeds of those souls without name or number who kept the faith in the teeth of outrageous odds. We would call them the "unnamed faithful," saints not known to us but assuredly known and named by God.

Fortified by this cloud of the unnamed faithful, we are bid to join them in the race, to persevere with them in the march, "looking to Jesus, the pioneer . . . of our faith."

In baptism we "put on Christ," adopting Jesus as pioneer and perfecter of our faith. Passing under the waters we symbolically die with Christ, confident that the One who raised him again from the dead will raise us as well into new life. Looking to Jesus as pioneer involves the practical trust that God is made visible in him. It entails reliance upon the One made known in him to sustain us and receive us at last into the divine care. Jesus endured the cross, disregarding its shame. And now the One who was judged and condemned by the powerful agents of both religion and empire is vindicated and sits at God's right hand. Faith in him fortifies and sustains.

Philip Yancy writes in his Reaching for the Invisible God the story of a woman named Betsy who suffered with Alzheimer's disease. Betsy attended a Christian discussion group in the nursing home where she lived. She could no longer carry on a conversation, but she could still manage to read a few words in succession. One of her friends in the group asked her to read the words of "The Old Rugged Cross." She read, "On a hill far away stands an old rugged cross, the emblem of suffering and shame."

As Betsy read those words, she broke into tears. She said that she couldn't go on. "It's too sad," she said. "It's too sad." The leaders assured her that she did not have to go on. But she kept repeating that it was too sad. The meeting ended, and her friends noticed that Betsy had become more calm and lucid, and she began to sing. With wavering pitch and a fresh supply of tears, the words of the hymn still came through:

"So I'll cherish the old rugged cross, Till my trophies at last I lay down; I will cling to the old rugged cross, And exchange it some day for a crown."

She knew suffering and shame. But even in her disability she could still look to Jesus who endured the cross, disregarding the shame, and sits at the right hand of God.

That's a faith that will get you home.