As we try to adjust to having four people at home all the time, one of our strategies is rotating the choice of post-dinner activity, to bring ourselves together for something that counts as play. On Friday night, my 24-year-old daughter picked a movie she felt was essential to the cultural education of my 15-year-old stepson, Monty Python and the Holy Grail. I’m fairly sure the only time I watched it all the way through was at a campus screening in 1981, but I recognized the cultural touchstones.
I vaguely remembered the plague scene, a cart being wheeled through the muddy streets of a village, while Eric Idle cries…
I’m sure it seemed hilarious in 1975, when an image like the one below would have been unthinkable, but I cringed to see it.
It’s Wednesday, and I have no idea how things will be this weekend, when pastors will do their best to share a good word with the people they serve. The lectionary for Sunday feels uncomfortably close to our situation. Lent is almost over, and we are approaching the top of the curve in Jesus’ story just as we are trying to flatten the curve in ours. We are living, most of us, one day at a time, even one hour at a time, waiting for the next news update, waiting for a million shoes to drop.
This week’s gospel lesson, John 11:1-45, is one of my favorite stories in the New Testament, because I love Martha and her family and their relationship with Jesus. He is intimately acquainted with them; the sisters feel free to be themselves with him, Martha jousting and Mary collapsing, both expressing their disappointment without reserve. We learn that their loss is his loss, too, even as he knows he will be bringing Lazarus back to the world of the living.
We will be brought out of this eventually, but for now, we are in the tomb with Lazarus, waiting. Lives are being lost, along with many understandings about life we considered reliable in the First World in the 21st century. The close ties of all who live on this planet have never been illuminated so plainly. This week’s texts proclaim the hope of our faith: death is not the end. What will our lives proclaim to the world? I hope our testimony will be love and care, accompaniment of those who mourn, and space to weep for what we will lose and have lost already.
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