Maundy Thursday (Year 3, NL)

Luke's text for Reign of Christ Sunday is a searing critique of leaders who are powerful but not vulnerable.

How is it that the poems of a 17th-century aristocrat still resonate with us?

During Holy Week, it's common for worship leaders to ask people to consider their place in the drama of Jesus' final days. To what extent do we betray him, deny him, insult him, crucify him? When do we, like the crowds, find ourselves gawking at suffering with prurient glee? When do we, like the thieves, alternately ridicule the truth, then believe in it? When do we, like the centurion, make our confession--though perhaps a moment too late?

Our culture's foundational sin is to make gods of ourselves, to find any excuse to go our own way rather than follow the Lord of life. We are weak. And yet in this Gospel story, so is Jesus.

Sacramentality is the breath of Christian life—life that springs from the sacraments and life that yearns to return to them.

When Jeanne Bishop learned of her sister's murder, she found herself saying aloud, "I don't want to hate anybody."

John 13 begins with imminent betrayal, suffering, and death. Understandably, we envision the scene with somber images. But I wonder if we overlook Jesus’ joy.

Social microhistories can capture big ideas. I’d like to write one on pickles, which are as fundamental to civilization as anything in Chesterton’s pockets.

This week my Century lectionary column focused on the text from Luke. Here are several threads I found useful but could not weave into the final piece.

We are instructed to love our enemies—not necessarily to forgive them.

Luke describes Jesus riding heroically into Jerusalem on Palm/Passion Sunday. According to archetypal imagery, is Jesus riding to heroic victory or tragic defeat?

Luke offers hints along the way that the trajectory between Palm Sunday and Good Friday is something other than utter failure, but they’re subtle hints: Jesus claims the authority to pardon even as he himself is hanging on the executioner’s cross; as he dies, he continues to discuss his kingdom and paradise.

If this Sunday's service seems crowded and discordant, there’s a historical reason for it: the lectionary readings are a combination of two different local liturgies.

Late in life, my mother confessed that she never enjoyed cooking. "But," she said, "I did take satisfaction in serving simple meals to my family." Well, there's no such thing as a simple meal anymore.

We love to celebrate the peaks of Jesus' life in worship, but how often do we remain with him during the valleys of his life?