Easter Memoirs: Good Friday

Good Friday did not always enjoy the reflection it deserved in my early awareness. In my youth, there was the distraction of Easter camps and sundry other diversions. Lenten preparatory practices were not part of our tradition.

In ministry, of course, the responsibility for Easter services had me looking across the broader Christian tradition for ways of educating and celebrating the drama of a climax in the Christian story.

I served a number of congregations, and each had a traditional variation of how Good Friday was understood, particularly the central issue of “atonement”, or how the sacrifice of Christ achieved the possibility of humanity being “at one” with God. (A particularly striking representation of the cross is a prominent feature at the Modbury Church of Christ, South Australia – fashioned by Carole-Anne Fooks from a red gum that stood on the building site.)

Did Jesus go to the cross as a substitute for humankind because God could not bear to look past our sins and required a perfect sacrifice in God’s own Son? Was Jesus’ death a ransom paid to Satan to release us from captivity to our soul-destroying ways? Or was it that Jesus succumbed to the predicted outcome of the clash between his Way and the hubris, self-centredness and wickedness of the power hunger in which we are all implicated?

These questions do not sit comfortably and are unsatisfied by argument and proof-texting. Careful listening, reflection, self-examination and gratitude lead the way to an effective Good Friday experience.

So, in retirement, we will attend a Good Friday service somewhere. Ecumenically, there are so many choices. Each will offer that opportunity to listen, reflect, self-examine and express gratitude.

This is still the first day of the Triduum, which goes from sunset to sunset, and that began with Jesus’ shared meal in the Upper Room with his disciples. There is yet more to come to complete the Three Days of Easter.

Easter Memoirs: Maundy Thursday

Having run up a few decades, most of them in pastoral ministry, I have a few Easters to look back on. I have experienced many repetitions of this high season of the Christian story, beginning with participation in my own Restorationist tradition which, in my childhood and youth, did not highlight the seasons to the extent of more liturgical churches. Every weekly occasion we gathered at the Lord’s Supper was a re-enactment of the events that led to Good Friday. Every Lord’s Day was a celebration of the resurrection. Inevitably, the annual marking of the Easter season was simply a recognition of what took place every Sunday.

As my ecumenical awareness grew I began to appreciate the nuances and richness of the particular way the more historic traditions observed Easter. Some of this has now rubbed off on my own tribe following much cross-pollenation as a number of our leaders and influencers helped us shift from cerebral assertiveness to a more reflective embrace of the affective experience of the great Christian story.

The ancient Triduum (Three Days) begins with a focus on the events of the eve of Jesus’ trial and crucifixion. Jesus gathered his disciples in the upper room of a Jerusalem house to celebrate the annual Passover feast, a Hebrew rite that marked the liberation of their ancestors from slavery in Egypt. At this commemoration, Jesus first washed the feet of his disciples, demonstrating his servant leadership. Knowing he was about to take the place of the traditional Passover sacrificial lamb, he used the specially prepared bread and wine of the feast to spell out the meaning of the laying down of his life. It was not only a means of preparing his disciples about what immanently lay ahead (he had warned them many times) but a way for them to appropriate his life and sacrifice into their being and way of life. Every time they gathered to eat and drink they were to “Remember him!”

To re-enact this drama reflectively and contemplatively as the opening of the Three Days of Easter (remembering that the new day begins at sunset) invites fresh opportunities for insight and understanding at intuitive and instinctive levels.

I have participated in full-blown dramatised Passover re-enactments highlighting how each Jewish symbol retells the Christian story. These have left me somewhat uneasy – they are exposed to the dangers of historical revisionism and cultural appropriation, leading to the murky waters of successionism. On the other hand, there have been occasions of simply hearing the text read with gentle music and soft candlelight, movement, the sharing of bread and wine, and retirement to a Gethsemane garden setting for further prayer and reflection.

Today Christians regularly celebrate the Lord’s Supper, Holy Communion or the Eucharist. It is a celebration of Christ’s laying down of his life for the brokenness of the world in order that, through him, the world might be made whole. The small piece of bread and the gentle sip from the cup are a divine banquet. We participate in the fullness of the new life that Christ has wrought.

And it all begins on that first night of Passover all those years ago in Jerusalem.

An Ode to a Vegemite Sandwich

I love a Vegemite sandwich!
It’s always set to please
when spread on multigrain bread
and a nice big slab of cheese.

The red and yellow label
Beckons from the pantry shelf.
It stands out from all other things
And whispers “Come, help yourself!”

Twisting off the yellow lid
I gaze into the deep black sea;
A subtle whiff of dark delight
Evokes shivers of ecstasy.

Smoothly spread on buttered bread
Not too thick and not too thin
Covering our slice to the outer edge
This sanga’s already a win.

Slap on some cheese and close it up.
Anticipating more than I can bear
I carry it off to my favoured spot
And settle to enjoy my fare.

Salty tang of great delight!
Smooth and creamy texture!
The sanga’s swallowed all too soon
Let’s get more of this tasty mixture.

(c) Dennis Ryle, March 2023

A Welcome Spurned

There has been an awkward interlude to the current Obama visit. Tour organisers are in damage control following their prevention of a scheduled and traditional “Welcome to Country” by an indigenous elder. Apologies and repairs are underway and the welcome is now happening at a subsequent event. This is the day the Prime Minister is introducing a Bill for a referendum on the Voice in Federal Parliament. Irony abounds!

I asked OpenAI to compose a sonnet lamenting this clash between the mores of ancient hospitality and fast-paced modern anxieties.

In lands of beauty, where nature prevails,
And ancient spirits linger in the breeze,
A foreign leader’s visit causes travails,
As barriers block an elder’s gentle pleas.

The wisdom of the ages is ignored,
As modern ways impose upon this place,
Where culture, tradition, and respect once poured,
Now snubbed and shamed by a powerful face.

Oh, how we mourn the loss of dignity,
As pride and prejudice take centre stage,
When once we welcomed all with unity,
Now fear and mistrust fill this earthly stage.

But hope still lingers in the heart of man,
That one day we’ll honour the ancient land.

Duty of Care – a Lament

Well, what a week it’s turned out to be
Robodebt, cardinals, a long highway search
Loading lots of disquiet on our TV
Looks like duty of care’s fallen off the perch.

Old institutions seem to be crumbling down
Their trustworthiness once worth more than gold
There used to be a value held all over town
A duty of care that could not be sold.

Structures and frameworks are still manipulated
To meet selfish ends no matter how seemly
Clients and customers poorly situated
For duty of care is denied routinely.

How will we fix such a dire situation?
Look out for each other, and eschew frustration!






Sunset at Burns Beach

Bloganuary does have a final question as it slowly sinks in the West: “Where is the best place to watch the sunset near you?”

Free to share and use courtesy of starlight-aurora.deviantart.com

A picture is worth a thousand words. Perth nestles on the west-facing coastline that defines the border of Western Australia and the Indian Ocean. Burns Beach is just one of many vantage points and a ten-minute drive from where we live. But then we can just open our front door and see a spekky sunset nearly any day.


Constellations

With eerie premonition, Bloganuary’s final question is “What would you title the chapters of your autobiography?”

With Bloganuary’s first question about what I was hoping to achieve this year, I answered vaguely and ambiguously about improving my writing across several genres. Behind this, I have been wondering how to respond to a request to write my autobiography following almost fifty years in public ministry.

I am at the “gathering material” stage – collecting old photos, journals, diaries, and making notes of how they might come together. Sorting these out into a storyline that can be divided into chapters is an arduous task with some hard decisions to make. Will my story be told chronologically or thematically? The keepers of the archives will want a historical documentary. This would go against my grain. I’m a storyteller looking for particular expressions of universal themes. I look for the “why?” more than the “what?”
So it will take more time than this evening to set out neat chapters of my story.

I will, however, disclose that the first chapter is to be called The Shoulders We Stand On. I don’t believe we can tell our story without telling the story of those who have influenced us – even before we have started our journey. Some of us are able to delve back many generations and discover uncanny twists and turns of fate that affect who we are today. Even if we can’t go back so far, there is a village that raised us. Some have named this the constellations of which we are a part. Constellations was going to be the alternative title for this opening chapter, but seemed a bit obscure, so I’ll use it for this blog post instead!

So The Shoulders We Stand On will be Chapter One!

Stories

Bloganuary probes and asks, “What is something you learned recently?”

To speak of what I learned today
I’m not at liberty to disclose
For such occurs in many a way
It comes with the territory, I s’pose.

For I’m a hearer of stories
Whispered from places deep
‘Tis a privilege to receive them
and in safety and silence keep.

Many a day I hear yarns old and new
And I sift them as they come
Some can be shared, but they are few
‘Tis a well-known rule of thumb.

So what I learn is treated well, precious as a treasure
Thus story-hearing and story-making becomes a cherished pleasure.



A curmudgeon and his cake

Bloganuary demands, “Describe your perfect birthday cake.”

Another trip around the sun?
Another year’s journey just begun?
Another cake to mark the occasion?
– I find it hard to raise the passion!

Clown face cakes with lots of icing
Adventure themes destroyed when slicing
These were part of long ago youth
To think of such now seems uncouth.

A perfect cake now seems quite moot
Maybe I’d rather a bowl of fruit
Besides, there’s the challenge of how to handle
Blowing out such a multitude of candle!