The Department of Substack Efficiency (DOSE) notes that I can be in the top 10% of writers if I post once every 3 days. I don’t have anything to write about every 3 days. Nor should my 60-year-old self dare to write every 3 days. I will repeat myself and drone on about my sore feet. Today, I am writing about my Holy Week, guaranteeing that I will be at the bottom of the “must-read” list. But, if you have a “God hole” I hope you read on…
I started Psalm Sunday in a Herod wig with three friends at a tiny theater. Easter Carols must begin with Jesus Christ Superstar. It was a total geek fest and sing-along. Judas was much like Pharaoh; they were doomed as they drew the short straws in biblical history. What would the story even be without “Poor old Judas?” The music, the costumes— wait…did they leave Jesus on the cross? What is a pilgrim to do?
For answers, I headed to a long Catholic mass the same evening. I grew up Catholic. I dislike the sexist and other “ism” rules of Catholicism, but I love their rituals. I have old palms stuck everywhere, and I still can’t make one into a cross during the extra-long mass. Roman Catholics have pretty songs, old priests, and good crowds. I also like that their sign of peace requires one to remain in the pew and shake hands, not hug.
On Monday night, I went to a late showing of The Chosen. I was a Doubting Thomas when everyone was raving about this series, but I am here to tell you I would be the lady begging scraps under the table from this Johnathan Roumie “Jesus” any day. I had worked all day and fell a little asleep in the movie. Jesus admonished his apostles, “Rise and pray so that you may not fall into temptation!” I woke straight up. I haven’t had that feeling since my grade school days when my mom would bust in my room, clicking the light, popping the blind up, and begin to bellow. Regardless, The Chosen gives us a Jesus before he was whitewashed by organized religion, “Before the proclaimer became the proclaimed.”
I left for my retreat at St. Meinrad Monastery in Indiana on Thursday evening. I have retreated here for many years, and given where we are in our world, the idea of being up on a hill far away from the debauchery of our current political un-system was a relief. There were more retreatants than usual. I have an odd fascination with the monks. They shuffle about, chant, and create beautiful spaces. They range in age from their 20s to their 90s. But they all looked the same when they began the mass by prostrating themselves before the purple-cloaked cross. All we could see were robes and soles. Soles that are very good for the soul. After the shenanigans of the last two years, observing these men being reverent and humble was balm for this weary American. Three monks sang John’s Passion narrative. Yes, of course, it took forever, and it could have lasted another hour for all of us. When they harmonize together, it is transformative. Imagine, good men singing and not slandering, perhaps even living out Gospel values upon their hill. I know it is not perfect at this Benedictine monastery, but it is a holy place to find sanctuary from Captain Chaos and the babbling democrats. Oh, how we need Jesus to flip some tables up in there!
The very things that Jesus spoke against are the things in desperate need of reform now. Power, corruption, law over love, women’s rights, domestic abuse, and the marginalization of foreign citizens. Taxes that fall on the poor while the rich get richer. I am not saying we need more religion; Christian Nationalism has forsaken the Beatitudes and embraced deception. We need a spiritual leader to show us “The Way.” Diana Butler Bass suggests that the table, the Holy Thursday supper, was Jesus's saving gift. There was a community of people who loved each other and cared deeply for each other. She reminds us that Jesus returns to the room where the apostles and Jesus shared their last meal. They did not meet back at the cross.
I have always believed that it is the life of Jesus that saves us. Wendell Berry reminds us to " Practice Resurrection” in his Mad Farmer’s Manifesto. I hope the Easter Bunny drops that fabulous poem in your basket this Sunday! My witness today of the good monks reminds me to follow the greatest commandment and return home with Easter hope. But my whole wacky Holy Week makes me sure that the Lenten journey is not about ditching chocolate, salvation, and Golgotha. It is a journey toward agape, a selfless love toward each other, the decision to extend the greatest hospitality toward all of God’s people.
Sorta like how Jesus LIVED ……That Jesus Christ Super Star who caught me sleeping at his movie but still loves me guy!
I liked this so much I read it twice.
And I understand the Holy Week geekiest. While waiting for a flight home from Africa, I sat with my friend and geeked out on Jesus Christ Superstar with John Legend and Brandon Victor Dixon, the best Judas ever. There we were, 20 hours from home, trying to sing ever so softly in that hotel living room while Dave, my Christian-doubtful hubby, smiled as he's a JCS geek too.
But my fave is your Saint Meinrad pilgrimages. I always feel like you're doing them for all of us...putting something beautiful and holy in a sick atmosphere on life support as it's so devoid of the beautiful, good and true. Thanks for that and this, Fannie Bea.
Thank you for sharing your experience of Holy Week. And thank you for being Light. I am really struck by the significance of the table which you talk about at the end. I am grateful to those communities who welcome everyone to the table! And…it is time for some tables to be turned!