Yesterday, a friend shared a couple of stanzas of a Good Friday hymn written by Seventeenth Century Hungarian poet Király Imre von Pécselyi and translated into English by Twentieth Century Congregationalist minister, composer, and musicologist Erik Routley. The common title of the hymn is “There in God’s Garden” and it is also known as “The Tree of Wisdom.” Alabama composer K. Lee Scott wrote the tune “Shades Mountain” specifically for this text.
I was introduced to the hymn during my two-year residence in Mississippi as Interim Dean of Jackson’s St. Andrew’s Cathedral. It became one of my favorite hymns, with its message of hope for the healing of the nations. Organist/Choirmaster Jessica Nelson led the Cathedral Choir and Congregation in singing it in my last Sunday service there, which was also the occasion for my retirement from active ministry. This seems like a good time to share it.
I invite you to contemplate the words, read the article by Emily R. Brink, and immerse yourself in the music, here sung by the Choir and Congregation of First-Plymouth Church in Lincoln, Nebraska.
There in God’s garden stands the Tree of Wisdom, whose leaves hold forth the healing of the nations: Tree of all knowledge, Tree of all compassion, Tree of all beauty.
Its name is Jesus, name that says, “Our Savior!” There on its branches see the scars of suffering; see where the tendrils of our human selfhood feed on its lifeblood.
Thorns not its own are tangled in its foliage; our greed has starved it, our despite has choked it. Yet, look! It lives! Its grief has not destroyed it nor fire consumed it.
See how its branches reach to us in welcome; hear what the Voice says, “Come to me, ye weary! Give me your sickness, give me all your sorrow; I will give blessing.”
This is my ending, this my resurrection: into your hands, Lord, I commit my spirit. This have I searched for; now I can possess it. This ground is holy.
All heaven is singing, “Thanks to Christ whose Passion offers in mercy healing, strength, and pardon. Peoples and nations, take it, take it freely!” Amen! Our Savior!
While searching for some commentary regarding Holy Saturday, I came across reflections posted by The Rev. Canon Patrick Comerford on his blog. Comerford is a priest in the Church of Ireland (Anglican), Director of Spiritual Formation at the Church of Ireland Theological Institute, and a Canon of Christ Church Cathedral Dublin. While Canon Comerford’s message concerns All Souls Day, a significant portion of it has to do with Christ’s descent to the dead, also known as “The Harrowing of Hell” and that is the excerpt I have chosen to share with you on this Holy Saturday.
Before you read the excerpt, I suggest reading the following passages of scripture:
In the Eastern Orthodox tradition there are several All Souls’ Days throughout the year, especially on Saturdays. Saturday is the day Christ lay in the Tomb, and so all Saturdays are days for general prayer for the departed.
The Western tradition of the Church has traditionally contemplated the cross, and then the empty tomb … and has been totally agnostic about what happened in between, between dusk that Friday afternoon and dawn that Sunday morning. The deep joys of the Resurrection have often been overshadowed in the Western Church by the Way of the Cross, as though the Cross leads only to death. We have neglected Christ’s resting place, his tomb, and given little thought to what was happening in the Holy Sepulchre that holy weekend.
The Eastern Churches, which lack a clearly defined doctrine of Purgatory, have been more comfortable with exploring in depth the theme of Christ’s Harrowing of Hell. For, while Christ’s body lays in the tomb, he is visiting those who were dead.
The icon of the Harrowing of Hell reminds us that God reaches into the deepest depths to pull forth souls into the kingdom of light. It reminds us how much we are unable to comprehend – let alone take to heart as our own – our creedal statement that Christ “descended into Hell.”
The Apostle Peter tells us that when Christ died he went and preached to the spirits in prison “who in former times did not obey … For this is the reason the Gospel was proclaimed even to the dead, so that … they might live in the spirit as God does” (I Peter 3: 15b- 4: 8).
The Early Church taught that after his death Christ descended into hell and rescued all the souls, starting with Adam and Eve, who had died under the Fall. The Harrowing of Hell is intimately bound up with the Resurrection, the Raising from the Dead, for as Christ is raised from the dead he also plummets the depths to bring up, to raise up, those who are dead, no matter where that may be in time and in space. The Harrowing of Hell carries us into the gap in time between Christ’s death and his resurrection.
In icons of the Harrowing of Hell, Christ stands on the shattered doors of Hell. Sometimes, two angels are seen in the pit binding Satan. And we see Christ pulling out of Hell Adam and Eve, imprisoned there since their deaths, imprisoned along with all humanity because of sin. Christ breaks down the doors of Hell and leads the souls of the lost into Heaven. It is the most radical reversal we can imagine. Death does not have the last word, we need not live our lives buried in fear. If Adam and Eve are forgiven, and the Sin of Adam is annulled and destroyed, who is beyond forgiveness?
In discussing the “Descent into Hell,” Hans Urs von Balthasar argues that if Christ’s mission did not result in the successful application of God’s love to every intended soul, how then can we think of it as a success? He emphasises Christ’s descent into the fullness of death, so as to be “Lord of both the dead and the living” (Romans 5).
However, in her book Light in Darkness, Alyssa Lyra Pitstick says Christ did not descend into the lowest depths of Hell, that he only stayed in the top levels. She cannot agree that Christ’s descent into Hell entails experiencing the fullness of alienation, sin and death, which he then absorbs, transfigures, and defeats through the Resurrection. Instead, she says, Christ descends only to the “limbo of the Fathers” in which the righteous, justified dead of the Old Testament waited for his coming.
And so her argument robs the Harrowing of Hell of its soteriological significance. For her, Christ does not descend into Hell and experience there the depths of alienation between God and humanity opened up by sin. She leaves us with a Christ visiting an already-redeemed and justified collection of Old Testament saints to let them know that he has defeated death – as though he is merely ringing on the doorbell for those ready to come out.
However, Archbishop Rowan Williams has written beautifully, in The Indwelling of Light, on the Harrowing of Hell. Christ is the new Adam who rescues humanity from its past, and who starts history anew. “The resurrection … is an introduction – to our buried selves, to our alienated neighbours, to our physical world.”
He says: “Adam and Eve stand for wherever it is in the human story that fear and refusal began … [This] icon declares that wherever that lost moment was or is – Christ [is] there to implant the possibility … of another future.” [Rowan Williams, The Dwelling of the Light: Praying with Icons of Christ, p. 38.]
I ask myself: what’s the difference between the top levels of Hell and the bottom levels of Hell? Is my Hell in my heart of my own creation? In my mind, in my home, where I live and I work, in my society, in this world? Is hell the nightmares from the past I cannot shake off, or the fears for the future when it looks gloomy and desolate for the planet? But is anything too hard for Lord?
The icon of the Harrowing of Hell tells us that there are no limits to God’s ability to search us out and to know us. Where are the depths of my heart and my soul, where darkness prevails, where I feel even Christ can find no welcome? Those crevices even I am afraid to think about, let alone contemplate, may be beyond my reach. I cannot produce or manufacture my own salvation from that deep, interior hell, hidden from others, and often hidden from myself.
But Christ breaks down the gates of Hell. He rips all of sinful humanity from the clutches of death. He descends into the depths of our sin and alienation from God. Plummeting the depths of Hell, he suffuses all that is lost and sinful with the radiance of divine goodness, joy and light.
Hell is where God is not; Christ is God, and his decent into Hell pushes back Hell’s boundaries. In his descent into Hell, Christ reclaims this zone for life, pushing back the gates of death, where God is not, to the farthest limits possible. Christ plummets even those deepest depths, and his love and mercy can raise us again to new life.
[Today], we think again of Christ in the grave, and ask him to take away all that denies life in us, whether it is a hell of our own making, a hell that has been forced on us, or a hell that surrounds us. Christ reaches down, and lifts us up with him in his Risen Glory.
May these thoughts from Canon Patrick Comerford be an epiphany for you on this Holy Saturday. Here's a Charles Wesley hymn that also seems fitting for today.
Earlier in the week, the Ten Commandments came up in a conversation with a couple of other people. One of them said, “For some, Christianity seems to be a list of rules to obey.” I think he’s right. There are those who view Christianity that way.
But for me, Christianity is first and foremost about relationships – with God, with others, and with my own spiritual being. The “rules” God gives us are intended to help us cherish, protect, and sustain those relationships. Following the “rules” don’t make us worthy of our relationships; they help us abide in them.
For starters, God invites us into relationship not because we are worthy, but because God is worthy. And God always takes the first step, even when we falter. In the Parable of the Prodigal Son (Luke 15:11-32), after the son wakes up to his own prodigal reality, he rehearses a speech that he hopes will convince his father to accept him back into the household just as a hired hand. When the father sees him coming toward home, he runs out to meet him. And before a word comes out of the son’s mouth, the father embraces him and restores him to his place in the household as a son and not a servant. Our relationship with God is grounded in God’s worthiness and not our own. The rules God gives us are to hold us close in that relationship as God's beloved daughters and sons.
Our relationships with others are healthiest when we place the worth of the other ahead of our own. Jesus demonstrated that in his life, death, and resurrection for us. St. Paul summed it up when he wrote, “God proves his love for us in that while we still were sinners Christ died for us” (Romans 5:8). The heart of the Paschal Mystery is that Jesus Christ overcame death for our sake. Before we even knew there were any rules to follow, he deemed us worthy to act on our behalf. But it is the Savior’s worth and not our own that makes it possible for us to live in him. He calls us again and again to love others the way he loves us.
And, it is vital to our spiritual well-being that we be mindful of our soul’s progress throughout life and aware of how all other relationships affect our inner being. Because we live in a material world, it is easy to forget that we are, first and foremost, spiritual beings. Things often block progress on the spiritual journey. Some people bring good into our lives. Others have a harmful or hurtful influence. There are spiritual disciplines and rules of life that help us be mindful and to monitor the soul’s well-being.
To couch my point in sacramental terms, the inward and spiritual needs to be expressed in the outward and visible. It is the relationship that drives the behavior. Because I value the relationships, I strive to act in ways that sustain them.
I love my wife and I will never forget that she loved me first. Some important rules have been helpful in strengthening the bonds of our marriage for fifty-two years. But following those rules grows out of the deep love and respect we have for one another. The rules don’t make us love one another. It is our love that gives the rules their purpose.
Our parents taught us not to play in traffic because, before we knew it was dangerous, they loved us enough to give us that and other rules that protect us from physical harm. We teach our children to brush their teeth and other rules because we love them and want them to take care of their health. We follow COVID protocols in an attempt to live out the Great Commandment, loving others as well as ourselves. The Church commends spiritual disciplines because Jesus loved us enough to create the Church for that purpose.
The Godly Play Curriculum for children speaks of the Ten Commandments as “The Ten Best Ways to Live.” I like that. Because God loves us so much, God has provided these and many other ways to live in a sacred relationship with our Creator, with those around us, and with our own true self. The purpose of the rules is always about relationships.
Blessings,
The Very Reverend Ron Pogue Interim Rector St. Martin-in-the-Fields Episcopal Church Keller, Texas
A friend said to me the other day, “Maybe it’s just me, but 2021 is beginning to look a lot like 2020.” He’s right; it kind of is, isn’t it? An impeachment trial in the Senate, more pandemic, challenges of trying to get everybody vaccinated, brutally cold weather, a breakdown in the Texas power grid, loss of water pressure, and more. Surprises, disappointments, inconvenience, unfamiliar emotional terrain, and rising anxiety levels as we wonder what’s next. It’s enough to try one’s soul.
How is it with your soul? The Season of Lent calls us to grapple with that question every year, but this year it has a different intensity. Maybe that’s not such a bad thing. Maybe the mounting pressures can move us to seek the help we need for the care of our souls. Maybe we will be more intentional in taking advantage of the spiritual disciplines of self-examination, repentance, prayer, fasting, self-denial, and reading and meditating on God’s holy Word. Maybe we’ll read the daily Lenten Reflections that members of our parish have shared with us.
If our faith teaches us anything, it teaches us that our God is the gracious Lover of our souls who will never leave or forsake us. In fact, that is the one thing that can never be taken away from us, no matter how bad things may be. In Baptism, we are “marked as Christ’s own for ever.”
The familiar hymn It is Well With My Soul was written after traumatic events in the life of Horatio Spafford. The first two were the death of his four-year-old son and the Great Chicago Fire of 1871, which ruined him financially. His business interests were further hit by the economic downturn of 1873, at which time he had planned to travel to England with his family on the SS Ville du Havre. In a late change of plan, he sent the family ahead while he was delayed on business. While crossing the Atlantic, the ship sank rapidly after a collision with a sea vessel, the Loch Earn. All four of Spafford's daughters perished. His wife Anna survived. Shortly afterwards, as Spafford traveled to meet his grieving wife, he was inspired to write these words when his ship passed near where his daughters had died. Phillip Bliss composed the tune for the hymn and called it Ville du Havre, from the name of the stricken vessel.
The series of tragedies could have broken Spafford. By God's grace, he dealt with the question, "How is it with your soul." The outcome was his echo of the response of the Shunammite woman in her encounter with the prophet Elijah, "It is well." Moreover, the hymn he wrote about the experience has brought reassurance and peace to countless souls for a century and a half.
So, I ask again, how is it with your soul? Seize the opportunity Lent provides to grapple with that question. Observe the Lenten disciplines. Your clergy are always available to help, as are members of the parish who have emerged from their own experiences with renewed spiritual health.
Blessings,
The Very Reverend Ron Pogue Interim Rector St. Martin-in-the-Fields Episcopal Church Keller, Texas
Next Wednesday, we will begin our annual observance of the Season of Lent. Lent is a time for engaging our new life in Christ more deeply, risking new levels of trust. The purpose of Lent is not to dwell on suffering, or to spend forty days bewailing our manifold sins and wickedness for the sake of feeling our pain. Lent is about engaging in the ongoing process of renewal, regeneration, and new birth; it is about encouraging us to trust and to risk going forth and being sent out with the promise of new life.
Lent may require us to “think outside the box” of piety and religiosity, just as Abram and Sarai had to break with their past, and Saul and Nicodemus the Pharisees with theirs. The promises of God bear not only upon the future of our individual lives in relationship to God, but also upon the future of our parish, our diocese, and our Church as a whole.
To respond to the promise for new life means we have to be ready to redraw and rename the places on the journey. When the ancient ones told the story of Abram and Sarai, they were also inscribing new place names and creating a new social geography on the territories of their migrations in company with God.
God may be inviting us to rethink how we do Church in light of the socio-geographies of the times we live in. When Saul the Pharisee became Paul the Apostle as we know him, he brought new words, images, and new community structures into being, “calling into existence things which do not exist,” by trustfully following Jesus into new life.
Lent is for listening to that call in our own lives. In the words of James Russell Lowell, “New occasions teach new duties, time makes ancient good uncouth.” Lent is for careful thinking about how to step into the as-yet-unmapped future, to deepen our relationship to God, to trust the picture of new life in Christ, and for identifying the breaks with the past that we need to make in order to respond to the promises of God.
I invite you, therefore, in the name of the Church, to the observance of a holy Lent, by self-examination and repentance; by prayer, fasting, and self-denial; and by reading and meditating on God’s holy Word.
Blessings,
The Very Reverend Ron Pogue Interim Rector St. Martin-in-the-Fields Episcopal Church Keller, Texas
The readings for this Sunday are filled with images of renewal - new birth, new life, new creation. These images imply that God’s promise for new life entails God’s gift of a fresh start, freed from the restrictions of our past lives in order to enter a new relationship with God through the power of the Holy Spirit.
Lent is a time for engaging our new life in Christ more deeply, risking new levels of trust. The purpose of Lent is not to dwell on suffering, or to spend forty days bewailing our manifold sins and wickedness for the sake of feeling our pain. Lent is about engaging in the ongoing process of renewal, regeneration, and new birth; it is about encouraging us to trust and to risk going forth and being sent out with the promise of new life.
Lent may require us to “think outside the box” of piety and religiosity, just as Abram and Sarai had to break with their past, and the Pharisees Saul and Nicodemus with theirs. The promises of God bear not only upon the future of our individual lives in relationship to God, but also upon the future of our parish, our diocese, and our Church as a whole
To respond to the promise for new life means we have to be ready to redraw and rename the places on the journey. When the ancient ones told the story of Abram and Sarai, they were also inscribing new place names and creating a new social geography on the territories of their migrations in company with God.
God may be inviting us to rethink how we do Church in light of the socio-geographies of the times we live in. When Saul the Pharisee became Paul the Apostle as we know him, he brought new words, images, and new community structures into being, “calling into existence things which do not exist,” by trustfully following Jesus into new life.
Lent is for listening to that call in our own lives. In the words of James Russell Lowell, “New occasions teach new duties, time makes ancient good uncouth.” Lent is for careful thinking about how to step into the as-yet-unmapped future, to deepen our relationship to God, to trust the picture of new life in Christ, and for identifying the breaks with the past that we need to make in order to respond to the promises of God.
I'll see you in Church!
The Very Rev'd Ron Pogue Interim Rector St. Martin-in-the-Fields Episcopal Church Keller, Texas
Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.
With these words and with the sign of a cross of ashes imposed on our foreheads, we begin our annual Lenten journey. Those ashes, made from the palm branches we waved as we sang hosannas in celebration of Christ's Triumphal Entry last Palm Sunday, are a sign of the tentativeness of our praises and the shortness of our lives in the grand scheme of things. They mark the beginning of a season of reflection upon the impact we will leave in a universe that can and will go on without us.
Anglican priest and physicist John Polkinghorne expanded my own thinking about those ashes and our place in this universe in his book Quarks, Chaos, and Christianity. He writes, "Every atom of carbon inside our bodies was once a star. We are all made from the ashes of dead stars." Then, he goes on to explain how special our universe is. "Only a cosmos at least as big as ours could endure for the fifteen billion years necessary for evolving carbon-based life. You need ten billion years for the first-generation stars to make the carbon, then about five billion years for evolution to yield beings of our sort of complexity."
Woven into the complexity of our life is the "invincible divine purpose for good" and "the faithfulness of God who will not allow anything good to be lost." The death and resurrection of Christ bear witness to that truth and constitute the "seed event" of the new creation. From that "seed" springs forth fruit in the lives of those who follow him.
So, when you receive those ashes, marked on your forehead in the sign of the cross of Christ, you receive with them the invitation to examine your life, seek what is good, and discard whatever interferes with the fruitfulness and goodness you may contribute during your brief sojourn.
I invite you, therefore, in the name of the Church, to the observance of a holy Lent, by self-examination and repentance; by prayer, fasting, and self-denial; and by reading and meditating on God's holy Word. (BCP)
I'll see you in Church!
The Very Reverend Ron Pogue Interim Rector St. Martin-in-the-Fields Episcopal Church Keller, Texas
Here's a wonderful way to keep a Holy Lent, by William Arthur Ward:
• Fast from judging others; Feast on the Christ dwelling in them. • Fast from emphasis on differences; Feast on the unity of life. • Fast from apparent darkness; Feast on the reality of light. • Fast from thoughts of illness; Feast on the healing power of God. • Fast from words that pollute; Feast on phrases that purify. • Fast from discontent; Feast on gratitude. • Fast from anger; Feast on patience. • Fast from pessimism; Feast on optimism. • Fast from worry; Feast on divine order. • Fast from complaining; Feast on appreciation. • Fast from negatives; Feast on affirmatives. • Fast from unrelenting pressures; Feast on unceasing prayer. • Fast from hostility; Feast on non-resistance. • Fast from bitterness; Feast on forgiveness. • Fast from self-concern; Feast on compassion for others. • Fast from personal anxiety; Feast on eternal truth. • Fast from discouragements; Feast on hope. • Fast from facts that depress; Feast on verities that uplift. • Fast from lethargy; Feast on enthusiasm. • Fast from thoughts that weaken; Feast on promises that inspire. • Fast from shadows of sorrow; Feast on the sunlight of serenity. • Fast from idle gossip; Feast on purposeful silence. • Fast from problems that overwhelm; Feast on prayer that strengthens.
—William Arthur Ward (American author, teacher and pastor, 1921-1994.)
One of the most poignant passages we will read during this Holy Week is from St. Paul’s Letter to the Church at Philippi:
Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness. And being found in human form, he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death – even death on a cross.
Therefore God also highly exalted him and gave him the name that is above every name, so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bend, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father. - Phil. 2:5-11
I am struck by the description of the depth of Jesus’ obedience “to the point of death – even death on a cross.” His journey, especially during the days leading up to the Crucifixion, was a journey of obedience. That gets right to the heart of Holy Week, doesn’t it?
We know that the journey was not without its moments for Jesus. He prayed about it until he sweated blood. The temptation to take another path, to escape, to avoid the cross, was always there. But he knew his mission and was obedient to the One who had set this path before him.
By his obedience to that higher vocation, Jesus was able to overcome his inner conflict. By his commitment to the mission entrusted to him, he was able to remain steadfast until he fulfilled it. By his discipline in the midst of confusion, he was able to discern the way forward toward his redemptive objective.
In the story "Ninety-three," Victor Hugo tells of a ship caught in a violent storm. When the storm was at its height, the frightened crew heard a terrible crashing below. A cannon they were carrying had broken loose and was banging into the ship’s sides, tearing gaping holes with every smashing blow. Two men, at the risk of their lives, managed to secure the cannon again, for they knew that the loose cannon was more dangerous than the storm. The storm could toss them about, but the loose cannon within could sink them.
So, too, the outside storms and problems of life aren’t the greatest danger. It’s the terrible destructiveness of a lack of obedience to the highest, best, and noblest dimensions of life that can send us to the bottom.
The cross could have destroyed Jesus. But it didn’t because in humility he submitted himself to a discipline that kept him within the Divine Will. We could use some of his obedience in our own lives. Maybe some will rub off on us as we walk with him in the Way of the Cross during Holy Week, through the Crucifixion, into the Tomb, and into the glorious Resurrection on Easter. Let’s do it together!
I’ll see you in Church!
The Very Reverend Ronald D. Pogue Interim Dean St. Andrew’s Cathedral Jackson, Mississipi
In Baptism, we are incorporated into the Paschal Mystery. That is, we are incorporated into the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ. His life is our life. His death is our death. His resurrection is our resurrection. It is for this reason that Christians observe Holy Week every year. It is a commemoration intended to put us in touch with that life which the world can neither give nor take away. It is a time to look at the Paschal Mystery and to recover our true identity, our authentic self, in him.
Five hundred years before Jesus rode into Jerusalem, Zechariah prophesied that the Messiah would be a king. Since the time of the Exile, no Jewish ruler had borne the title of king. “Look, your king is coming to you. Rejoice, rejoice, people of Zion” (Zech. 9:9). The time was just right and the people were happy that day to acknowledge it.
They wished to crown him their king. In their enthusiasm, they missed the paradox. They saw the glory but overlooked the shadow. But Jesus was conscious of both.
He knew who he was so the acclamations of the crowd did not impress him. He saw that their palm branches cast the shadow of a cross. He sensed that the kingly crown they were offering to him that day would become a crown of thorns by the end of the week. Jesus knew that the identity the world offered was not a secure identity, not a legitimate identity, and certainly not a dependable identity. No, for Jesus, the only true identity is consciousness of who we are in the eyes of our Creator.
To the disciples, on the next weekend, it must have looked like the world’s biggest failure, a cruel joke. Imagine being sucked in to a group like “the Twelve.” To them “the Way” must have appeared more like a primrose path. Because they were still so dependent upon the things of the world for their sense of identity, they had to be the most embarrassed people around Jerusalem.
Then came Easter. Out of the tomb came the Risen Messiah with his identity still intact. “He is risen!” is shorthand for Jesus’ message of resurrection:
Behold, I have overcome the world. Behold, I died and I am alive. Behold, who you are need never again depend upon who you know, what you wear, where you live, what you do, how much you possess, or even what people say about you. Because I live, you will live also. You will experience new life in me and you will be able to face the popularity contest the world is running with confidence that you don’t really have to enter it in order to find out who you are. Here is my crown. It is yours! Take it! And believe me when I tell you that this crown of glory, which is both mine and yours, will never fade away.
Who and whose we truly are – that’s what Holy Week and Easter are all about.
I’ll see you in Church!
The Very Reverend Ronald D. Pogue Interim Dean St. Andrew’s Cathedral Jackson, Mississippi
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