Christ is Risen. He is risen indeed!

Jesus calls us friend, knowing we will betray him. If there is an order to salvation, this is it.

“God is love” is a theological statement that is true to the core, but “God is friend,” this is the deeper mystery made real in Jesus. Friendship is salvation. All else is theological pretense and drivel. The Friend that dines with us, and washes our feet, also lays down his life for us. “No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends…I have called you friends” (John 15:13-15).

“You, heart closed up in a chest, open, for the Friend is entering.” Rumi

Hear afresh these words at the meal of Friendship,

On the night that Jesus was betrayed [by his friends from below, and arrested by his other friends from above], he took bread, blessed it, broke it, gave it to his disciples, and said, ‘Take and eat; this is my body, broken for you. Do this in remembrance of me.’ In the same way, after supper, he took the cup, blessed it, and gave it for all to drink, and said, ‘This cup is the blood of the new covenant, shed for you and for all people for the forgiveness of sin. Do this in remembrance of me.’

Dear friends of Jesus, we are forgiven—now—completely! May the great befriending of God break our heart’s wide open.

Christ is Risen. He is risen indeed!

“Start the drumbeat, everything we have said about the Friend is true. The beauty of that peacefulness makes the whole world restless…it is time to dance.” Rumi.

Christ hanging there outstretched cross.
Christ hanging here in shame and loss.

Christ unproductive just needs a job.
Christ no english only a nod.

Christ ever thirsting for next drink.
Christ turning tricks. Seductive wink.

Christ dandelion unsightly lawn.
Christ of the dark long before dawn.

Christ gang graffitti brick wall of church.
Christ annoying screams. Makes ears hurt.

Christ illegal. Christ detained.
Christ defeated soaked in rain.

Christ reservations unfit for farming.
Christ mouthing nothing profound nor alarming.

Christ causing distance smells so bad.
Christ twitching awake bad dreams had.

Christ will work for food and anything helps.
Christ needy intimacy. Lacking love felt.

Christ between thieves executed sinner.
Christ mentally ill always beginner.

Christ locked up then deported.
Christ knocked up had her aborted.

Christ chain smoking sucking a drag.
Christ in a name. Queer. Fag.

Overlooked. Irrelevant. Christ remains.
Walking from tombs of loss and shame.

Ryan Taylor is a Hoosier by birth but now lives in Denver and works with Mile High Ministries. He’s learning how to be incarnational with himself and others. Find more of his thoughts at his blog tall monastic guy  where this post was first published on March 8 2013.

As a kid I ran from brokenness. Whenever a fight broke out at school while some excitedly gravitated toward it I’d subtely turn tail and literally walk away in the opposite direction. I remember doing this often. Whenever I found myself in proximity to deep hurt, sickness, or wreckage my sensitive psyche wanted nothing to do with it so in my fear I’d flee.

Early Easter morning, millions awaken before sunrise with a purpose. The dark skies give faint hint of the sunrise within the hour. A stretch of the arms, a wipe through the eyes, feet reaching downward for temporary covering against the floor terrain, and it is time to get moving. Slivers of remaining moonlight provide faint illumination through narrow openings above the bed. The millions have heard the call, and now respond! The time has come to join the line as men and women, even some boys and girls put their feet in the line to the appointed destination to which they are called this Easter Sunday. There they will see familiar faces, hear familiar sounds, and may even smell familiar odors. It is a dawn of a new day, and they are on their way.

Their destination?  “Chow call” in the prison refectory or “Meds up!” to the cart the nurse brings on the unit for those requiring morning medication. The stretch of the arms relieves some of the tension from the cell’s hard cot, the eyes crusted literally and figuratively by biology and monotony, the floor’s terrain cold on even the warmest day when one’s address is prison. We do not know how many millions go to church on Easter–but we know how many awaken in state and federal prisons: an excruciating 2.1 million men and women arise at Easter’s sunrise to another day when they seem oblivious to anyone on the other side of the prison walls. Another several million arise in county jails, many not physically far from home but incarnations of “out of sight, out of mind” even to those who are descendants of those to whom Jesus spoke just before his arrest and incarceration “I was in prison, and you visited me.”

Yes, millions have arisen with a purpose: count down the days, occupy the mind, anticipate a visit, and perhaps even attend chapel- purpose is a precious commodity for them. They are inmates, prisoners, convicts peopling America’s jails and prisons in record numbers–over two million in state and federal prison alone–and they arise every morning about the time the Easter Sunrise service crowd shakes the cobwebs from their consciousness to face their annual celebration.

The Easter lens well fits any view of incarceration. After all, when Jesus Christ died on the cross, he was an inmate. We celebrate the truth that God raised his only begotten son from the grave–we overlook the fact that the body which breathed its last before burial belonged to a prisoner. He hung between two thieve or malefactors, but “was numbered” with them as well.

Incarceration in America carries more than the punishment of “doing time.” Shame and stigmatization plague an inmate during incarceration and after release. Those twin maladies spread like a virus to relatives left behind, children separated from fathers and mothers, parents grieving for their children, grandparents serving as caretakers for a generation forty, fifty, and sixty years their junior while fathers stretch their arm in the cell and mothers wipe their eyes on the block. Shame and stigma, contagious and infectious as they manifest in symptoms of silence, rendering the affected loved one incapable of sharing the true hurt with anyone at the Sunrise service in celebration of the Risen Inmate!

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I’m sure everybody here knows what it means to play a game of dominoes. Nobody exactly agrees on the rules, of course, about things like whether you put the double six sideways at the beginning of the game or not, and whether you judge who comes second by the combined number of dots on the remaining pieces. But every single person in the whole wide world who has ever played a game of dominoes agrees on one single thing: there comes a point in every game when you lose interest in the regular rules and start to make a long snake by lining every piece up on its end about an inch apart and then watching them topple over. And YouTube gives us the proof: because there you will find thousands of people have deemed their efforts of lining up and then toppling over myriad upon countless myriad of dominoes in ever more elaborate cascades are worthy of viewing by the whole world.

Think about that cascade of dominoes for a moment. And think about its metaphorical power. On July 28, 1914, Archduke Franz Ferdinand, heir to the throne of Austria-Hungary, was shot by a Serbian assassin in Sarajevo. Austria-Hungary prepared for war with Serbia. Russia prepared to defend Serbia against Austria-Hungary. Germany prepared to defend Austria-Hungary against Russia. France prepared to defend Russia against Germany. Germany prepared to attack France through Belgium. Britain prepared to defend Belgium against Germany. The Turks rallied behind Germany. Japan rallied behind Britain. Within a month, all were at war. The first domino fell; and the rest came tumbling down. Four years later, 15 million people were dead.

Think about Rwanda. Before the Belgians came, the minority Tutsi had ruled over the majority Hutu. The colonial Belgians exacerbated the tensions between the peoples, and by the time they left, the Tutsis held almost all the political and economic power, while the Hutus were mostly landless and poor. In 1962 the Hutus overthrew the Tutsi monarchy and instituted a Hutu republic. In 1990 Tutsis invaded from Uganda and started a civil war. In 1994 the Hutus assassinated their own president and initiated a genocide of Tutsis, killing 800,000 in 100 days. Years later the refugee Tutsis, now in north-eastern Congo, initiated a civil war in the Congo. Again, one domino fell, and then another, and another. And there seems no end to it, even today.

Holy Week tells a story of falling dominoes. One after another disciples, crowd, Pharisees, Romans, Sadducees, scribes, criminals, bystanders, pilgrims all fall down one after another. It’s a domino story. It’s a fall story. It’s a kind of multi-dimensional, violent re-enactment of the story of Adam and Eve. A mixture of temptation, short-sightedness, fear, panic, forgetfulness, stupidity, and rebellion leave practically every character sprawled on the ground like fallen dominoes.

Except one. That’s what we see in Holy Week. We see God, in human form, insert two hands into that cascade of falling dominoes, and say, “Stop.” The dominoes have been falling so fast for so long and so violently that those two hands that get in the way get overwhelmed, get crushed, get obliterated. They get nailed. Because they are divine hands, they have the power to stop even a rampaging torrent of plummeting dominoes. But because they are human hands, they hurt like hell. That’s what happens in the cross. The divinity of humankind says “Stop.” And the humanity of God gets crushed.

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Power & Passion: Six Characters in Search of Resurrection  
by Samuel Wells

When Andrea and I made the move from Tacoma, WA to Durham, NC for her to pursue graduate studies we did not imagine we would end up calling Duke Chapel our church home. Duke Chapel is a grand gothic cathedral that physically is the central focal point of Duke University. It is beautiful and hard to miss. But we thought we were looking for a church that represented the full spectrum of the wider community of Durham not the formal high setting that is Duke Chapel. However, we decided we would start there and in the end we never left. One of the reasons for this is the Dean of the Chapel, Sam Wells. Wells’ preaching and leadership anchor Duke Chapel and contribute to it being a vital part of Duke University. Being located on the campus of a ‘prestigious’ school like Duke with a well respected Divinity School  means that the opportunity to hear great thinkers and speakers is never in short supply. Just in the past few months, N.T Wright and Walter Brueggemann have spoken.  Wells himself is considered one of the leading theologians in the world when it comes to issues of ethics but it is his thoughtful communication, intentionality and ability to make connections between scripture and daily life that continually call me back to be challenged and encouraged.  

I’m not sure Sam Wells ever thought he would be leading an institution with the powerful platform that Duke Chapel and Duke University provide. Much of his early pastoral call was spent serving in economically and socially challenged neighborhoods in his homeland of England. (Personally this is of course another reason that I was drawn to Duke Chapel. Having a British accent in a beautiful gothic church is good for this dual citizen and reminds me where part of me is from!) I am grateful and encouraged to see that even with this very visible platform and position Sam’s heart still beats strongly for the marginalized in the world. Yet most of those who attend Duke Chapel would not be thought of as marginalized or the least, last and lost in any material sort of way. Most of us who fill the pews each week are privileged if not powerful by most of the world’s standards. But in a wonderful way, Sam always invites us to enter a world where we are all broken and our shared calling is to walk with each other and carry each other’s burdens. Sam Wells is a brilliant thinker, but brilliance means nothing if it does not move us to practically engage with the other – those who are most different and even those who most threaten us in some way.

As I have sat in the pews and in other public gatherings listening to Sam I have realized that ultimately all his thoughts and words come down to the fact that he believes the resurrection is true. And he has spent a lot of time thinking about the ramification of this. If the resurrection is true, the ever present question is how will this change the way we live our lives in the world today? Wells is able to continually bring this question to life and to reality in a way that is convicting and challenging while also being lovingly invitational. He weaves stories from scripture together paying careful attention to place and context and then makes the connection to our modern day. Wells is able to make living and profound connections in a way that shows deep insight into the human condition.

In 2007 Archbishop of Canterbury Rowan Williams invited Wells to write a book for the Archbishop of Canterbury’s official Lent book series. The result of that invitation was titled Power & Passion: Six Characters in Search of Resurrection. Wells’ intended title was “Power & Passion: The Resurrection of Politics” but the publisher didn’t want the word ‘politics’ in the title which ironically only serves to highlight the weight and complexities of these four focal words: Politics, Power, Passion, and Resurrection. In the six chapters of this book (one for each week of Lent) Wells takes on power, passion, politics, the past and the present seen through the resurrection and through the words and actions of six characters present during Holy Week. It is through the lens of the lives of Pontius Pilate, Barabbas, Joseph of Arimathea, Mrs. Pilate, Peter and Mary Magdalene that the reader is invited to a life of repentance, empowerment, and encourage­ment.

In this book Wells explores the different kinds of power that exist in the world. As he highlights each of the six character’s words and actions during the week leading up to Jesus’ crucifixion, Wells contrasts the politics of resurrection (and subsequent abundance) with that of the power that ultimately denies the resurrection producing a politic of scarcity.

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Editor’s Note – During this Holy Week, Geography of Grace is publishing thoughts from several Street Psalms – A Community of the Incarnation members. Look for more information on this community in an upcoming post.

“I know that my Redeemer lives and that in the end he will stand upon the earth. And after my skin has been destroyed, yet in my flesh I will see God; I myself will see him with my own eyes—I and not another. How my heart yearns within me.”
Job 19:25-27

WE MADE IT!! For us as a community, this Easter declaration of Job in the midst of his intense suffering, pain and loss is a fitting viewfinder through which to conclude our Semana Santa reflections. We began this Lenten journey 5 weeks ago and have persevered through a long, arduous journey towards and through the cross. Today is Easter Sunday and we resolutely declare with S. Lewis Johnson that “The resurrection is God’s Amen! to Jesus’ statement, “It is finished.” The intense birthing pains and excruciating suffering of Friday has now yielded to and given birth this day to the resolute hope that we find in an open and empty tomb.

Job’s declaration above is a resignation to joy. He has lost all else and thus resigns himself to seize the only thing that yet remains: “I know that my Goel (Kinsman, Avenger) liveth.”Job realizes that while his “friends” have been a complete failure to him and even his wife has told him to curse God and die, Yahweh is his personal Kinsman Redeemer. The kind of suffering that Job has experienced has “gifted” him with the ability to live in an elevated awareness of truth. It is this “gifting” that allowed Bishop Pedro Casaldáliga to describe the murder of his friend, “A Beautiful Gospel Time” - His friend being a fellow priest who had been killed at a police station where he had gone to condemn the mistreatment of two indigenous women.
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Joshua Station is a transitional housing ministry for homeless families in Denver. For Holy Week, our friends Penny Salazar and Kathy Escobar set up an interactive prayer experience in one of the rooms of this converted motel. It includes scripture readings, poetry, places to write prayers. It also includes a pile of coals and ashes, a bucket of dirt, and a door in the middle of the room – each item designed to help us interact with the various aspects of the story upon which Holy Week is built.

Penny and Kathy created this space because they knew that the people of Joshua Station, who live with the daily pain of deep poverty, needed to be invited to bring their heartache before God as part of the experience of Holy Week.

For Saturday, they created a “wailing wall,” where people could write out their prayers of lament. Next to the wailing wall, Penny and Kathy placed three placards, each with thoughts for Holy Saturday – the “in-between” day.

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Among the bleakest words in scripture are these: “Then everyone deserted him and fled” (Mark 14:50).

Along with the physical wounds suffered by Jesus in his darkest hours, there were inflicted wounds that reached deeper than thorns, nails or spear. His cry “I thirst” surely was not limited to cravings a damp sponge could alleviate. This is not to minimize the impact of physical trauma on the whole human psyche. But added to his afflictions is this trauma: to be deserted, alone in extremis, in the most vulnerable moments of his life!

Dietrich Bonhoeffer begins his book Life Together, a treatise on community, with the startling reminder that Jesus suffered and died bereft of the community he held dear. The crowds turned on him in the end; ok, everyone knows fame is fickle. And from the day of his first public sermon, he had enemies. But his closest friends had shared the intimacy of a long meal just the evening before. The “one whom Jesus loved” had leaned against his breast. Others pledged their undying loyalty. In less than a day they were gone—every single one of them.
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