“ The One Hard Thing You Can Do.” Preached at Wollaston Congregational Church On March 25th, 2018 Scripture: Mark 14:1-9 It was the last week. On the first day Jesus rode into Jerusalem on a humble mount, a colt. He acted “the king” like a court jester, poking fun at the Roman governor’s show of military might. The crowd assembled from all the countryside between Galilee and Jerusalem, called out “Hosanna (Save us now!), blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!” Jesus rode all the way to the Jerusalem temple: the seat of political and religious power. On the second day Jesus returned to the temple. He overturned the tables of the money changers and merchants. Caged doves flew free. Temple and Roman coins rolled through the grand court of the Gentiles. Jesus railed against the temple’s collusion with Rome. The common people were being robbed on all fronts. The Romans had seized their land. And they were being taxed by both the temple and the Empire. Jesus could not abide a temple in which worship substituted for justice. The twelve disciples followed along, unnerved. This was only day two. But they could not say that they had not been warned. They had been traveling with Jesus, these past weeks, all the way from Caesarea Philippi in the north, where he first prophesied what was to come. Back at the start of the journey, Peter had proclaimed Jesus as the Messiah. But Jesus had rebuked him saying that the “Son of Man” must undergo great suffering and be rejected the religious authorities and be killed and after three days rise again. Of course, Peter was not willing to accept this outcome. But Jesus, told them all, for the first time, that anyone who wanted to be a follower must deny themselves, take up their cross and follow him. The prophecy was repeated as they passed through Galilee, and again when it was clear that they were going up to Jerusalem. Each time the disciples misunderstood. Each time they changed the subject or they argued among themselves. They just kept denying the prophecy and avoiding the subject. They approached the holy city with the backdrop of the Passover festival. This was a celebration of liberation for the Jewish people from enslavement to a former empire. The disciples must have known that these were dangerous times. They must have known that the Romans were anxious to keep a lid on any uprising, and the temple authorities were nervous. They must have seen the cross casting its shadow across their way. And yet, they refused to face into the great mystery. They refused to do one thing they could do: to help Jesus prepare for his suffering and death. But this is the fourth day, Wednesday. It is two days before the feast of the Passover. On this day, Jesus goes to eat at the house of Simon the leper in Bethany. And here a woman brings a jar of costly nard, an ointment intended for anointing for burial. It must have cost this woman her entire life savings. She plans to do the one hard thing she can do for Jesus, to pour it all out on him. There is no avoidance or denial in her. She knows what will happen to Jesus. And there is nothing she can do about it. But there is one thing she can do, this is a hard thing. And she does it. She anoints him, pouring the nard over his head. He is preparing for his inevitable death. With loving care, she decides to prepare with him, by doing this one thing the twelve disciples are so unready and so unwilling to do. She decides to enter the mystery, and to be with Jesus as he goes to his death. And when the disciples scorn her, Jesus lifts her up. He says that wherever the good news is proclaimed she will be remembered. She is the one who will be remembered, this nameless woman, who did what she could do. Who did the hard thing she could do. It is a hard thing, to face into and acknowledge the suffering of another, especially someone you love. It is a hard thing, to participate in making the decision to stop treatments, so that your loved one may pass from this life on their own terms. It is a hard thing, to be present to someone whose loved one has just died and they can’t quite take it in. Or to sit with a friend, who is in a deep depression, without trying to fix it or cheer them up. Parker Palmer talks of his experience with severe clinical depression, calling it a total eclipse of light and hope. Palmer had a number of friends who tried to help him. Some came with advice: “try to remember all the good you’ve done, and you will surely feel better.” Others over-identified with him, saying “I know exactly how you feel.” Palmer understands these attempts as a part of a syndrome of “avoidance and denial.” But one friend, Bill, stopped by Palmer’s house every day and for half an hour simply massaged his feet. He rarely spoke, but mirrored Palmer’s condition. Sometimes he said things like “I can sense your struggle today.” [1] Like God, Bill didn’t try to fix Palmer but gave him strength by just being with him and suffering with him. This is the kind of love that Jesus received from the woman without a name - a love that does not avoid or deny. In recent weeks High School students throughout the USA have taken a stance against gun violence in schools. This is an issue that most adults would rather avoid or deny. It involves some difficult conversations, between those who believe that guns can be used to protect the innocent, and those who wish to see guns removed from our society. It involves confronting powerful, controlling groups, such as the National Rifle Association, and political representatives who take money from such groups. Many students have been enacting “walk outs” from school in order to express their frustration at the adults who refuse to confront this issue. Some adults have suggested that instead of “walking out” of the classroom, students should “walk up” to lonely students and others. Just “walk up and be nice” they say. Well, it is good practice for all of us, in our daily lives, to include those who are excluded. Many High Schoolers already do this too. But, it’s possible that the “walk up” instead of “walk out” movement could be another attempt to avoid and deny the reality of the situation. If a High Schooler who shoots up his school is suffering from a deep psychological disorder, it won’t be cured by simple friendliness. Why do adults recommend “walking up” instead of “walking out” when students can do both? Why do adults balk at a peaceful student protest? Avoidance and denial might have something to do with it. Walkouts and protests won’t solve everything. But it’s something. It’s one thing students can do. And it’s a hard thing, because it exposes them to the disapproval of many adults. And as we’ve seen in recent weeks, it exposes them to online bullying and contempt. If they are doing the one thing, this hard thing, maybe we who are adults can do something too: Support our students in their confrontation of gun violence in schools and other places. Some members of this congregation joined the “March for Our Lives” procession in Boston yesterday. This was one way of walking with the students in their protest. Some of us could do that. For others who are not so physically resilient, there may be things that you can do. One thing’s for sure, doing the one thing we can, even if it seems small, even if it is hard, is better than doing nothing at all. The nameless woman in Mark’s gospel did what she could. But, I wonder what the story would have been like if the 12 disciples had also done what they could. Perhaps the Last Supper on the Thursday of that week would have been less of a struggle. Maybe, instead of arguing among themselves, the disciples would have passed the bread around for Jesus and helped him to share the cup. Maybe they would have laid hands on his shoulders and prayed and blessed him for the days ahead. Maybe they would have washed, anointed and massaged his feet for the walk to Golgotha. Perhaps they would have sung songs to encourage him along the way. Perhaps later that evening, instead of scattering in the garden of Gethsemane, they would have gone with him to the high priest, asking to be arrested as well. And perhaps there would have been no need to recruit Simon of Cyrene, because they would have carried the cross to Golgotha, singing psalms of lament as they went. Perhaps each one would have hugged and kissed him, before he was put on the cross to die. Ilse Weber was a Jewish poet who lived in Czechoslovakia during the time of the Jewish Holocaust in Europe. Ilse wrote songs and theater pieces for Jewish children, mainly in German. She was confined to the Theresienstadt concentration camp, where she worked as a night nurse in the infirmary, caring for the children. The Jewish prisoners were not allowed medicine, but she did what she could for them. She sang lullabies, like this one she composed: “Wiegala.” Wiegala, wiegala, weier, the wind plays on the lyre. It plays so sweetly in the green reeds. The nightingale sings its song. Wiegala, wiegala, weier, the wind plays on the lyre. Wiegala, wiegala, werne, the moon is a lantern. It stands in the darkened firmament and gazes down on the world. Wiegala, wiegala, werne, the moon is a lantern. Wiegala, weigala, wille, how silent is the world! No sound disturbs the lovely peace. Sleep, my little child, sleep too. Wiegala, wiegala, wille, how silent is the world! [2] When the children, including her own son, Tommy, were transported to Auschwitz, Ilse volunteered to go with them. It is said that as they were taken to the gas chambers, Ilse sang “Wiegala wiegala” to comfort them. She was with them. She did what she could. [1] [1] Parker J. Palmer, “Let Your Life Speak: Listening for the Voice of Vocation”, (San Francisco, Jossey-Bass books, 2000) [2] https://holocaustmusic.weebly.com/ilse-weber.html
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