Sometimes when I’m driving a topic will come to me that I know I want to write about. Often times it’s certain words or even complete sentences, and in that moment I know it will probably never make it onto a printed page. Because when I write, I release, and even if I’m writing only in my head, by the time I make it to my iPad or a computer, I’ve already let it go.
I’m hoping this is not one of those times.
Today is Maundy Thursday and I’m writing in what little time I have between leaving work and heading back for worship. Today kicks off a series of services that revisit and reflect on the days in Christ’s life leading up to his trial, execution and Easter resurrection. It is generally a time I revere with a mixture of morbid respect and genuine worship. It is also somewhat exhausting.
As I was driving to catch a quick bite from Burger King (who gets my thanks for having veggie burgers on the menu) I was thinking about why it’s so exhausting. Today, for example, I didn’t do much at all in terms of preparing for the services. That was done weeks, even months, ago. I spent today planning for worship services happening weeks from now, answering emails, hanging posters; in all, I spent today like I would normally spend today. But as I left the office, I felt totally spent and zeroed in on the reason. Guilt.
Guilt is this nasty cloud that hangs over the season of Lent and especially this weekend. At some point in every service I’ll go to, I will hear the words that Christ died for me. And for you and the salvation of the world. How can I not feel guilty? Christ died for me and I overeat. Christ died for me and I forgot to wear my good shoes to church. Christ died for me and I ran out of toilet paper. Christ died for me and I do all sorts of stupid things that don’t honor his sacrifice at all.
Last year I (and half the planet) discovered the songstress Adele, and I fell completely and totally in love with her. On her first album she recorded Bob Dylan’s Make You Feel My Love. God, with generous help from Miss Adele, has imprinted those words on my heart. This is what I hear…
I’m hoping this is not one of those times.
Today is Maundy Thursday and I’m writing in what little time I have between leaving work and heading back for worship. Today kicks off a series of services that revisit and reflect on the days in Christ’s life leading up to his trial, execution and Easter resurrection. It is generally a time I revere with a mixture of morbid respect and genuine worship. It is also somewhat exhausting.
As I was driving to catch a quick bite from Burger King (who gets my thanks for having veggie burgers on the menu) I was thinking about why it’s so exhausting. Today, for example, I didn’t do much at all in terms of preparing for the services. That was done weeks, even months, ago. I spent today planning for worship services happening weeks from now, answering emails, hanging posters; in all, I spent today like I would normally spend today. But as I left the office, I felt totally spent and zeroed in on the reason. Guilt.
Guilt is this nasty cloud that hangs over the season of Lent and especially this weekend. At some point in every service I’ll go to, I will hear the words that Christ died for me. And for you and the salvation of the world. How can I not feel guilty? Christ died for me and I overeat. Christ died for me and I forgot to wear my good shoes to church. Christ died for me and I ran out of toilet paper. Christ died for me and I do all sorts of stupid things that don’t honor his sacrifice at all.
Last year I (and half the planet) discovered the songstress Adele, and I fell completely and totally in love with her. On her first album she recorded Bob Dylan’s Make You Feel My Love. God, with generous help from Miss Adele, has imprinted those words on my heart. This is what I hear…
Katy,
When the rain is blowing in your face and the whole world is on your case, I could offer you a warm embrace to make you feel my love. When the evening shadows and the stars appear, and there is no one there to dry your tears, I could hold you for a million years to make you feel my love.
I know you haven’t made your mind up yet, but I would never do you wrong. I’ve known it from the moment that we met; no doubt in my mind where you belong. I’d go hungry; I’d go black and blue; I’d go crawling down the avenue. No there’s nothing that I wouldn’t do to make you feel my love.
The storms are raging on the rolling sea and on the highway of regret; the winds of change are blowing wild and free. But you ain’t seen nothing like me yet. I could make you happy; make your dreams come true – nothing that I wouldn’t do – go to the ends of the earth for you to make you feel my love.
To make you feel my love, God
So those are the words I sang in my car while I was driving to Burger King with a supersized case of guilt and exhaustion. Jesus loved me. I mean, the human Jesus maybe didn’t, since he didn’t know me yet, but that part gets a little confusing and trinitarian. But I definitely believe he loved his friends that he shared Passover with, the last supper we remember tonight on Maundy Thursday. If there was ever a time to start laying on the guilt trip, it was that night. But Jesus didn’t do that.
For Jesus, the many days we have come to honor as Lent were not about a shadow of guilt or doom. They were about a singular purpose: Love. There’s this line in the song: “I’d go hungry; I’d go black and blue; I’d go crawling down the avenue. No there’s nothing that I wouldn’t do to make you feel my love.” It doesn’t say: “there’s nothing that I wouldn’t do to make you feel like you owe me” or “there's nothing that I wouldn't do to remind you that you don’t deserve this.”
I’m not saying we don’t owe Jesus and I’m not saying we do deserve forgiveness and the promise of peace after we die. I suppose I must be saying that we do owe Jesus and we don’t deserve it. But my point is: that’s not what He is saying.
He is saying something more like “I could make you happy; make your dreams come true – nothing that I wouldn’t do – go to the ends of the earth for you to make you feel my love.”
God, I confess I have not loved you with my whole heart. I have not remembered in my weaker moments that you are there with me, within me. And yet I draw from your strength in my weakness and from your weakness in my strength. You are my source of humility and honor. You are love. Amen.
