Crumbs From The Cross
Worship
And The Sea Lay Down
Sermons And Worship Services For Lent And Easter
Call to Worship
Jesus said, "It is finished." Come, let us worship God who completes creation and redemption.
Processional Hymn
"Lift High The Cross" (words: George William Kitchin and Michael Robert Newbolt, 1916; music: Sydney Hugo Nicholson, 1916).
Children's Time
There is an old make-believe story about the man in the moon looking down on earth and seeing a rabbit, a monkey, and a fox warming themselves around a fire and sharing their supper together, for they were good friends. The moon said to the stars, "I am going to take a trip to earth," and the moon said good-bye to the stars. With all the time he had to think through the eons and eons of time, and being curious, with much imagination, he often wondered which of the three, the rabbit, the monkey, or the fox, was the kindest?
Wanting to know but not wanting them to know him, he changed himself into an old and poor beggar. "Please help me," cried the beggar, as he approached the three friends. "I am sooo hungry." "How sad," said the three friends, hurrying off to find food for the poor man.
The monkey quickly found some bananas in a tree, the fox caught a fish in the brook nearby, but the rabbit could not find any food for the poor man. Tears filled the rabbit's eyes, but he knew that feeling sorry would not feed the hungry man, so he used his imagination and his thinking and soon he had an idea and a plan.
"Mr. Monkey, would you gather some firewood for me," said the rabbit, "and Mr. Fox would you make me a fire with the wood?" They did as the rabbit asked and soon the fire burned brightly. Then the rabbit said to the beggar, "I do not have any food to share with you, but I will give you all that I have. When I am cooked, you may eat me."
The rabbit was about to jump into the fire, when the beggar, the man in the moon, cried, "No! You are very kind, but do not harm yourself." The three friends were amazed as the poor man changed into the man-in-the-moon. "You are the kindest animal I have ever met," he said to the rabbit. "I will take you up into the sky to live with me."
So he did and that is why some nights when you look up at the moon and it is shining brightly, you can see the rabbit, the kindest of them all, for he was the one willing to give his own life to help another live.
Prayer of Confession
Dear Lord, we, like Peter, disappoint you, but may we, like Peter, "be there" with you. Forgive us when we run away and desert you. Give us courage for the living of this day, lifting high the cross to remember your courage. Amen.
Words of Assurance
"Lo, I am with you always, even unto the end of the world."
Psalter Reading
Psalm 22
Old Testament
Isaiah 52:13--53:12
Epistle Lesson
Hebrews 10:16-25
New Testament
John 18:1--19:42
Sermon
They are eating our hope tonight,
Tearing at the Bread
Hanging limp upon the tree,
Who once was sung to tenderly
In a manger on a silent night.
This "Good" Friday the heavens are angry,
Shouting curses at a sleeping world
That in the morning will awake
To a famine of faith.
Feed us this day, O Lord,
From crumbs fallen from the cross,
We who are oblivious of the Feast to come.
God, give us faith enough to face the dragon
That devours our vow to love,
Or with our lack of courage, hold our hand
Until the dragon shrinks.
Good Friday reminds us of our fear. As a child I loathed Good Friday! My mother and I groped our way down the dark church aisle, the windows having been covered with thick black cloths. The organ groaned the first hymn, echoing the atmosphere. The funereal voices of the ministers sounded as hounds wailing at the moon, on and on and on ... From noon until three there would be six sections of thirty minutes each, six somber black-robed ministers preaching, one after another, as we sang them sadly into their place.
I squirmed on the hard pew and took a quick unsuspected, sidelong glance at my mother's passive face. Was she really interested? This was certainly the dullest place I could imagine, for I had been taught well by preachers in horn-rimmed glasses on small, peaked noses, under squinty eyes, shouting, "Imagination is the work of the devil! Keep your mind on Scripture at all times!" On Good Friday I wondered who suffered more, Jesus on the cross, or me in the church? And immediately I prayed for fogiveness. But at last it was time for communion and I quickly stood up and headed for the aisle, for this meant "The End"! I was no sooner up than my mother grabbed my hand to keep me safely in harbor. At snail pace we crept to the altar. There I kneeled before the black draped cross as the minister held the cup before me. As he tipped the cup, I lifted my head and the dark red liquid ran down my dress. He moved on to the next person, unaware of the wounded victim he had left behind.
How many wounded victims does Good Friday leave behind?
"Crucify him!" the ugly, angry mob shouts, the crown of thorns digging deeper into his temple, his head bleeding, his hands bound, his body beaten. The words of denial by his friend, "I know not the man," rang in his ears, as he dragged the heavy cross among the mocking and jeering of the cruel crowd. Then he felt the nails tear into his flesh and the tormenting thirst, the piercing doubt.
A parishioner said to the pastor as he hung Emil Nolde's picture of the burial of Jesus, a yellow, pain-shriveled body, The Entombment, "I wish you'd take that picture down. It's awful. It makes Jesus look so dead." She proceeded to tell him which Pieta to hang in its place, adding, "It shows Jesus as smooth-skinned and athletic."
"Crucified, dead, and buried." The ancient words filed into the minister's mind and marched through his head as a procession of monks.1
Good Friday reminds us that death is awful. I have encountered death's awfulness in two fathers. The first was snatched quickly by a swiftly moving train, the second slowly by a debilitating, devouring cancer. Death is awful. "Put something else in its place, please." I would rather hide my head in the sand than face the pain of identification with that death, and yet because of that death I can say, "I know God understands our pain because Jesus suffered pain upon the cross." Jesus was fully human. He hurt. He cried. He ate and drank. He experienced the awfulness of death as he hung on a cross. And yet sometimes I think we know the story so well we pass it by. Only when we experience it do we open the ears of our heart.
Jesus' death on the cross was a voluntary act whereby the symbol of the cross as torturous death was transformed into unconditional love. Old things must pass away before the new can come. When we do not see Jesus' death as death, because we see it through eyes acquainted with resurrection, and therefore both are diminished, our souls are not drowned in delight, because we have not first despaired. We had been told the story, but we have not experienced it.
Dante's pilgrimage took him through the Otherworld, from a hell to a purgatory to a paradise. He tells the story of his journey of the spirit into the realm that lies beyond death. "In the middle of the course of life, I found myself in a dark wood." Dante looked for and found God in the depth and heigth of human experience. As he voyaged into the unknown, he discovered a life beyond fear, beyond death, in the assurance of the love that moves the sun and the other stars.
It was over. A life that had begun with so much promise snuffed out in a second of time. One minute he was laughing and talking and enjoying life, and the next the sudden "bang" of a blowout, the curb, the tree, a life blown out, and it was over. When she first heard the news, she felt numb. It was not true. It could not happen! She saw his grin, as he left earlier that evening, saying, "I'll see ya!" His years flashed before her eyes and her numbness turned to tears. She sobbed softly, for there would be no more Christmases, nor Easters, nor birthdays, no more, "Thanks, Mom!" Her sobs grew into screams of anger. "Why?" she shouted.
She was alone. To whom was she shouting? If God was there, if God was the source of her life, then God must understand her confusion and her pain. Exhausted at last, she asked for strength, for there seemed to be no answers.
Her son was more than a body. He was part of her being. Now there would be no more anxiety over his frustrated hopes and dreams, no more nightly vigils during his illnesses, no more unanswered questions for him. If God was Lord of life, Architect of creation, death too was part of God's plan, and if God could create life out of nothing, God could continue life after death, she thought.
"In the beginning, God," she sighed and slowly rose, as if leaving her cross. The pain would always be there, but perhaps time would allow her to live again for those who needed her love. She had only her trust in God's promise and her knowledge that God too had lost a son to death. Perhaps there would be another Easter victory!
"Where is God?" we ask in our pain, our sorrow, our fear.
"Where is God?" the people asked.
Here God is -- hanging on a cross.
Here is God -- collecting our tears.
Here God is -- with us now.
Good Friday asks us to examine our fear in relationship to God, to let go of our mooring posts of security and swim in the ocean of life with all its doubts, disappointments, and death, to discover the healing, reconciling Spirit within, the meaning of our faith, the message of Good Friday. Amen.
Hymn of Response
"What Wondrous Love Is This" (words: USA folk hymn; harm. Paul J. Christiansen, 1955).
Prayers of the People, the Pastor, and The Lord's Prayer
Pastoral Prayer
Living God, this is a dark day, and yet we know that the growth of the human person takes place in the dark. In that darkness we learn to trust the empty spaces and the silences. This is a day of pain, which leads to compassion, and identification with others, our brothers and sisters in suffering. Receive our prayers and our praise, you who are our all in all. Amen.
Offering
Doxology
Hymn of Commitment
"Beneath The Cross Of Jesus" (words: Elizabeth C. Clephane, 1872; music: Frederick C. Maker, 1881).
Benediction
Go now into the world in the name of God who heals and redeems, transforming the cruelty of the cross into the power of God's love, and Jesus Christ who leads us into, through, and out of our pain and suffering, and the Holy Spirit who prays for us. Amen.
____________
1. Thomas H. Troeger, Creating Fresh Images for Preaching (Valley Forge: Judson Press, 1982).
Jesus said, "It is finished." Come, let us worship God who completes creation and redemption.
Processional Hymn
"Lift High The Cross" (words: George William Kitchin and Michael Robert Newbolt, 1916; music: Sydney Hugo Nicholson, 1916).
Children's Time
There is an old make-believe story about the man in the moon looking down on earth and seeing a rabbit, a monkey, and a fox warming themselves around a fire and sharing their supper together, for they were good friends. The moon said to the stars, "I am going to take a trip to earth," and the moon said good-bye to the stars. With all the time he had to think through the eons and eons of time, and being curious, with much imagination, he often wondered which of the three, the rabbit, the monkey, or the fox, was the kindest?
Wanting to know but not wanting them to know him, he changed himself into an old and poor beggar. "Please help me," cried the beggar, as he approached the three friends. "I am sooo hungry." "How sad," said the three friends, hurrying off to find food for the poor man.
The monkey quickly found some bananas in a tree, the fox caught a fish in the brook nearby, but the rabbit could not find any food for the poor man. Tears filled the rabbit's eyes, but he knew that feeling sorry would not feed the hungry man, so he used his imagination and his thinking and soon he had an idea and a plan.
"Mr. Monkey, would you gather some firewood for me," said the rabbit, "and Mr. Fox would you make me a fire with the wood?" They did as the rabbit asked and soon the fire burned brightly. Then the rabbit said to the beggar, "I do not have any food to share with you, but I will give you all that I have. When I am cooked, you may eat me."
The rabbit was about to jump into the fire, when the beggar, the man in the moon, cried, "No! You are very kind, but do not harm yourself." The three friends were amazed as the poor man changed into the man-in-the-moon. "You are the kindest animal I have ever met," he said to the rabbit. "I will take you up into the sky to live with me."
So he did and that is why some nights when you look up at the moon and it is shining brightly, you can see the rabbit, the kindest of them all, for he was the one willing to give his own life to help another live.
Prayer of Confession
Dear Lord, we, like Peter, disappoint you, but may we, like Peter, "be there" with you. Forgive us when we run away and desert you. Give us courage for the living of this day, lifting high the cross to remember your courage. Amen.
Words of Assurance
"Lo, I am with you always, even unto the end of the world."
Psalter Reading
Psalm 22
Old Testament
Isaiah 52:13--53:12
Epistle Lesson
Hebrews 10:16-25
New Testament
John 18:1--19:42
Sermon
They are eating our hope tonight,
Tearing at the Bread
Hanging limp upon the tree,
Who once was sung to tenderly
In a manger on a silent night.
This "Good" Friday the heavens are angry,
Shouting curses at a sleeping world
That in the morning will awake
To a famine of faith.
Feed us this day, O Lord,
From crumbs fallen from the cross,
We who are oblivious of the Feast to come.
God, give us faith enough to face the dragon
That devours our vow to love,
Or with our lack of courage, hold our hand
Until the dragon shrinks.
Good Friday reminds us of our fear. As a child I loathed Good Friday! My mother and I groped our way down the dark church aisle, the windows having been covered with thick black cloths. The organ groaned the first hymn, echoing the atmosphere. The funereal voices of the ministers sounded as hounds wailing at the moon, on and on and on ... From noon until three there would be six sections of thirty minutes each, six somber black-robed ministers preaching, one after another, as we sang them sadly into their place.
I squirmed on the hard pew and took a quick unsuspected, sidelong glance at my mother's passive face. Was she really interested? This was certainly the dullest place I could imagine, for I had been taught well by preachers in horn-rimmed glasses on small, peaked noses, under squinty eyes, shouting, "Imagination is the work of the devil! Keep your mind on Scripture at all times!" On Good Friday I wondered who suffered more, Jesus on the cross, or me in the church? And immediately I prayed for fogiveness. But at last it was time for communion and I quickly stood up and headed for the aisle, for this meant "The End"! I was no sooner up than my mother grabbed my hand to keep me safely in harbor. At snail pace we crept to the altar. There I kneeled before the black draped cross as the minister held the cup before me. As he tipped the cup, I lifted my head and the dark red liquid ran down my dress. He moved on to the next person, unaware of the wounded victim he had left behind.
How many wounded victims does Good Friday leave behind?
"Crucify him!" the ugly, angry mob shouts, the crown of thorns digging deeper into his temple, his head bleeding, his hands bound, his body beaten. The words of denial by his friend, "I know not the man," rang in his ears, as he dragged the heavy cross among the mocking and jeering of the cruel crowd. Then he felt the nails tear into his flesh and the tormenting thirst, the piercing doubt.
A parishioner said to the pastor as he hung Emil Nolde's picture of the burial of Jesus, a yellow, pain-shriveled body, The Entombment, "I wish you'd take that picture down. It's awful. It makes Jesus look so dead." She proceeded to tell him which Pieta to hang in its place, adding, "It shows Jesus as smooth-skinned and athletic."
"Crucified, dead, and buried." The ancient words filed into the minister's mind and marched through his head as a procession of monks.1
Good Friday reminds us that death is awful. I have encountered death's awfulness in two fathers. The first was snatched quickly by a swiftly moving train, the second slowly by a debilitating, devouring cancer. Death is awful. "Put something else in its place, please." I would rather hide my head in the sand than face the pain of identification with that death, and yet because of that death I can say, "I know God understands our pain because Jesus suffered pain upon the cross." Jesus was fully human. He hurt. He cried. He ate and drank. He experienced the awfulness of death as he hung on a cross. And yet sometimes I think we know the story so well we pass it by. Only when we experience it do we open the ears of our heart.
Jesus' death on the cross was a voluntary act whereby the symbol of the cross as torturous death was transformed into unconditional love. Old things must pass away before the new can come. When we do not see Jesus' death as death, because we see it through eyes acquainted with resurrection, and therefore both are diminished, our souls are not drowned in delight, because we have not first despaired. We had been told the story, but we have not experienced it.
Dante's pilgrimage took him through the Otherworld, from a hell to a purgatory to a paradise. He tells the story of his journey of the spirit into the realm that lies beyond death. "In the middle of the course of life, I found myself in a dark wood." Dante looked for and found God in the depth and heigth of human experience. As he voyaged into the unknown, he discovered a life beyond fear, beyond death, in the assurance of the love that moves the sun and the other stars.
It was over. A life that had begun with so much promise snuffed out in a second of time. One minute he was laughing and talking and enjoying life, and the next the sudden "bang" of a blowout, the curb, the tree, a life blown out, and it was over. When she first heard the news, she felt numb. It was not true. It could not happen! She saw his grin, as he left earlier that evening, saying, "I'll see ya!" His years flashed before her eyes and her numbness turned to tears. She sobbed softly, for there would be no more Christmases, nor Easters, nor birthdays, no more, "Thanks, Mom!" Her sobs grew into screams of anger. "Why?" she shouted.
She was alone. To whom was she shouting? If God was there, if God was the source of her life, then God must understand her confusion and her pain. Exhausted at last, she asked for strength, for there seemed to be no answers.
Her son was more than a body. He was part of her being. Now there would be no more anxiety over his frustrated hopes and dreams, no more nightly vigils during his illnesses, no more unanswered questions for him. If God was Lord of life, Architect of creation, death too was part of God's plan, and if God could create life out of nothing, God could continue life after death, she thought.
"In the beginning, God," she sighed and slowly rose, as if leaving her cross. The pain would always be there, but perhaps time would allow her to live again for those who needed her love. She had only her trust in God's promise and her knowledge that God too had lost a son to death. Perhaps there would be another Easter victory!
"Where is God?" we ask in our pain, our sorrow, our fear.
"Where is God?" the people asked.
Here God is -- hanging on a cross.
Here is God -- collecting our tears.
Here God is -- with us now.
Good Friday asks us to examine our fear in relationship to God, to let go of our mooring posts of security and swim in the ocean of life with all its doubts, disappointments, and death, to discover the healing, reconciling Spirit within, the meaning of our faith, the message of Good Friday. Amen.
Hymn of Response
"What Wondrous Love Is This" (words: USA folk hymn; harm. Paul J. Christiansen, 1955).
Prayers of the People, the Pastor, and The Lord's Prayer
Pastoral Prayer
Living God, this is a dark day, and yet we know that the growth of the human person takes place in the dark. In that darkness we learn to trust the empty spaces and the silences. This is a day of pain, which leads to compassion, and identification with others, our brothers and sisters in suffering. Receive our prayers and our praise, you who are our all in all. Amen.
Offering
Doxology
Hymn of Commitment
"Beneath The Cross Of Jesus" (words: Elizabeth C. Clephane, 1872; music: Frederick C. Maker, 1881).
Benediction
Go now into the world in the name of God who heals and redeems, transforming the cruelty of the cross into the power of God's love, and Jesus Christ who leads us into, through, and out of our pain and suffering, and the Holy Spirit who prays for us. Amen.
____________
1. Thomas H. Troeger, Creating Fresh Images for Preaching (Valley Forge: Judson Press, 1982).
