Sermon

Sunday, April 20, 2008

Holy Week through the eyes of a child

Two weeks ago after Liturgy, I went out to lunch with some former parishioners who were visiting our parish. Returning to church in the middle of the afternoon, to get my Communion kit to go visit a parishioner in the hospital, as I walked into the altar, my eyes caught a glimpse of a red piece of paper laying at the foot of the crucifix behind the altar. I turned on the lights and walked over to the base of the cross and picked up the paper. An icon had been pasted on one side of the paper. And on the other side, in handwriting which made it obvious that this was a very young child, was written: “I made this for Jesus.” And the person signed his name. I know which child it was. And I know that he is very young, and snuck in, if you will, into the altar, and, surprisingly found the right place to put his gift. He didn’t leave it on the altar table, or on one of the chairs. He left it at the base of Christ’s cross. I actually shed a tear as I looked at the card.

I remember as a child, how Holy Week was such a special time—we got to stay up late and go to church. We were enamored with the church being dimly lit, fascinated by the pageantry, full of anxious anticipation waiting for the Light of the Resurrection on Saturday night. I remember as a child coloring icons as nicely as I could with markers and my dad gluing them onto wood and varnishing them and these were some of the icons on the wall of my room. I remember being so excited with my display of icons on the wall. I remember dreaming of the day I could be an altar boy. Perhaps some of our children at St. John relate to this—I’m sure there are some like my young friend who made a card for Jesus who are enamored by the things that go on in the church. There will be many children in our community who will be sad when they see Jesus on the cross on Thursday and Friday. And many children who will think it is the coolest thing to stay up past their bedtime and go to church.

Something happens to children as they get older—they lose that child-like innocence. Worship becomes an inconvenience, a nuisance, a drag. God’s name is most often heard when taken in vain. Holy Week is survived, if not ignored. Bible stories are replaced with reality television. And church is not longer the place we see Jesus or make simple cards for Him. It’s the place of socializing and special interests. Life also becomes more difficult. Where we got upset and cried and were laughing again in five minutes, we learned how to hold grudges and become bitter. Where we once enjoyed playing games and acting silly, we now put on polished exteriors where it’s seldom okay to act silly.

I sat on the floor of my family room last night rolling a ball back and forth with my 16-month son. He laughed. He thought it was the coolest thing ever. And you know what? So did I! Rolling a ball back and forth on the floor with my son, that was the coolest thing ever. It was cool to sit on the floor and act like a kid again. And you know what else is cool, the fact that I get to go to church every night for a week, just like it was when I was a kid. I get to see the church darkened, get to stay up past my normal bedtime, get to spend extra time in prayer with Jesus this week. Of course, as an adult, my understanding of Jesus Christ is a little more mature than it was 30 years ago when I was a kid. I understand that Holy Thursday is not just the night where the service lasts a long time and where everyone is sad. Holy Thursday is the night we kneel before the cross of Christ and ask His forgiveness, when we leave the frustrations of life there and commit to getting back to what is really important. Yes, when I was a kid, I went to church on Holy Wednesday to get the oil. I still do that now, but now it’s more than just getting the oil—it’s being anointed for healing of soul and body, with a recognition that my soul and body are both wounded and in need of healing. And while the choir will sound beautiful singing the Lamentations on Good Friday, with the Lord’s tomb beautifully decorated with flowers, surrounded by young girls in white dresses, we won’t be lamenting the death of our Lord who is risen from the dead granting life to all those who believe in Him. We should be lamenting the things we do that keep us from having the relationship with Him that we are supposed to have. Receiving Communion was an involved ritual in my house as a child—it meant we couldn’t have ice cream or candy and we had to be extra nice. As an adult, I am understanding a little more about the fear of God, the faith and the love I should have in order to draw near. This is the only week of the church year that there is an opportunity to receive Communion every day, and I certainly plan to take full advantage of that. As a kid, Good Friday and Easter were when the masses came to church. It’s still that way 30 years later. I remember as a child thinking how cool it was to see people three and four deep in the aisles, that’s how many people were in the church. As an adult, I think how sad it is that so many flock to church on Palm Sunday or Easter and absent themselves the rest of the year. I wonder what it is that draws people to church this week and keeps them away the rest of the time. And finally on Easter, as children we held our candles with eager anticipation for the moment we could light them. As an adult I realize that Jesus is the light of the world, and that those who carry His light in their hearts, never have lives that are truly darkened no matter how difficult and stressful they get.

Today we celebrate Palm Sunday, the entry of Christ into Jerusalem 2,000 years ago. The Gospels as well as the hymns of today, go out of their way to mention that it was the children who waved palm branches and shouted to Jesus, “Hosanna in the highest.” That’s why we have our children carrying palms in procession, imitating their peers from that Jerusalem day. In His ministry, Jesus always looked out for the children. In Luke 18: 16-17, He said, “Let the little children come to Me and do not forbid them; for of such is the kingdom of God. Truly I say to you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will by no means enter it.” And in I Corinthians 13:11, Saint Paul wrote “When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child; but when I became a man, I put away childish things.”

Yes, there are some childlike qualities we can all stand to have as we approach Holy Week in 2008. We should think church late at night is cool rather than a bother. We should be enamored with the pageantry and excited about the ritual. We should cry when we see Jesus on the cross on Good Friday and we should be happy when we sing Christos Anesti on Saturday night.

But there are some childish things that we need to grow out of now that we are older—we need an adult understanding of what this is all about—that Holy Unction is more than putting out your hand and saying your name so the priest can dab a Q-tip of oil on it. That Good Friday is more than getting a flower from the tomb and that Easter is more than lighting a candle. A song we sang at summer camp says, “We believe in God and we all need Jesus, cause life is hard, and it’s not getting easier.” We didn’t carry palms around our church today to look cute—we did it to express joy at being God’s children. This is the week where we sit for hours in church and we not only look at the pageantry but look deep into our own hearts and souls and examine where we are spiritually in April 2008—is the light of Christ burning brightly within you? Are winds of temptation or sadness or frustration threatening to extinguish it? Has personal failure put that flame out? Has doubt crept in and stolen your faith? As we hear about the beatings, the nails, the spear that Christ endured for us, we need to look at our lives and ask ourselves seriously and soberly, have I betrayed the Lord this year? Have I put a nail in His church? And as we receive the Light from the everlasting Light and celebrate the Resurrection, it is an occasion to ask ourselves, do I have joy in my Christian life this year? Why? Why not? These answers come through prayer. And prayer is where we pour out ourselves to God—our joys, our sorrows, our everything. It is where we spend the most intimate moments of our lives and where we speak to God from the depths of our being, not just the surface. Why is it that as children, we could say “I love you Jesus,” and we can’t say that as adults? I remember how moved I was the first time I saw my priest cry, kneeling at the foot of the cross on Holy Thursday. Why it is that as adults, tears are seen as a sign of weakness, rather than strength? And on a personal note, why is it that people are so easily angered by what the priest doesn’t do, rather than moved at what he does?

As we mark another Holy Week this year, let’s do more than mark time on a calendar. There are 168 hours between now and the end of Holy Week—how many of those hours can you dedicate to worship? There are a lot of rituals and traditions to witness these next 7 days—will we experience only the form or will we take away some substance from them. There are some opportunities for each of us to do some growing up these next 7 days. Will Easter find you having added some spiritual maturity to your life, or only 7 more days to it? Will Easter be an ending or a renewed start? My prayer for you this Holy Week is that you will see it through the eyes of a child—with wonder, with tears, with joy. And that you’ll also see it through the eyes of a mature adult—with honesty, reflection, and effort.

Let me highlight a couple of things about our upcoming journey—we will have services each morning at 9:00 a.m. and each evening at 7:00 p.m., beginning this evening with the service of the Bridegroom. The schedule gives you an idea how long each service will last. There are Holy Week books available for purchase—it you don’t own one, they are not expensive and will last a lifetime and will help you find more meaning in the Holy Week experience. If you’ve never attended Holy Thursday evening because a 3.5 hour service is intimidating to you, I’ll make you a deal—come for an hour of it—come at 8 and leave at 9—yes, this one time only during the year, you’ll hear Fr. Stavros say it’s okay to come late and leave early, but come and witness the procession of the crucified Christ, come kneel before His cross, come pour out your sorrows, so that at the Resurrection you can experience a real measure of joy. Holy Thursday is the MOST powerful service of the entire church year. On Good Friday evening, we will have the privilege to welcome His Eminence Metropolitan Alexios, who will be here this year to celebrate this service with us. And Saturday evening, when we celebrate the Resurrection, how wonderful it would be if every single person in the church approached to receive Holy Communion.

Some priests use the pulpit during Holy Week to raise funds for projects. Others use it to beg the Chreasters, those who come only on Christmas and Easter, to come more often. I won’t do either—but I will challenge you, as I am challenging myself, to put some effort into this Holy Week, so that you can take away some renewal, some reward from it. Psalm 126 reads: “Unless the Lord builds the house, in vain do the builders toil; unless the Lord guard the city, in vain does the watchman keep watch.” Unless the Lord is the foundation of your life, in the end you’ll realize that it was all for nothing. So I encourage you to use this week to strengthen the foundation of your life, and allow the Lord to take the lead in building your life, with a solid foundation that will last long after Holy Week is over.

Psalm 8: 2 reads “Out of the mouths of babes, you have perfected praise.” I’ll end my sermon where I began it—a little boy in our parish left an icon at the of Christ’s cross two weeks ago, with the words “I did this for Jesus.” As we enter Holy Week, I ask you to follow his lead, “What will you do for Jesus this week? What will you do in your quest for salvation this Holy Week?” Have a blessed Holy Week and a Kali Anastasi!