Visiting Dad

River is a two year old black cocker spaniel. He lives at our friend’s Debbie from whom we got Tashina, our first beloved girl. We stayed in touch ever since. River is the Dad of our three month old puppy Denali.

We organized to visit after Easter and arrived early afternoon with our two girls. Debbie and her family live near Olympia – an hour south from us.

River is a young and enthusiastic boy. This scared Denali a bit – she withdrew and sat on my shoes. 

However Sitka (9 year old) appreciated River’s interest and was gracious to him.

Once the excitation fell down a bit, River showed some friendliness to Denali. She looks like him but her white spots that we like so much make her one of a kind.

A litter was recently born at Debbie’s. It did not go very well. Two of the four puppies did not survive the birth. The mother refused to  breast-feed the two others. She was so aggressive that Debbie took them away, concerned that she would kill them. Debbie started feeding them with a bottle (every two hours!). 

Then she had the idea to introduce them to another dog she had – a mother who had litters before and took good care of her puppies. Success was immediate. The new coming mom sniffed the puppies and started licking them. They soon became inseparable. “I asked the vet if she might have some milk, explained Debbie, and he said it was impossible. But I saw it : she does have some milk coming out!”

Debbie showed us the puppies through the window because they are not protected by vaccines yet. As we were taking picture, the surrogate mom was inside, looking at the pups and us. She was attentive and serene. 

Holy Week, a Week Apart

Holy Week is an essential time in the life of a church. Each year, the same question comes up: how should we best present the last hours of the life of Christ, so that we remain faithful to the biblical message without repeating a routine, year after year? How do we celebrate those ancient events while making them current and relevant to the 21^st century parishioners?

Thursday – Last Supper and Clean Hands

Thursday is Maundy Thursday – from latin “Mandatun” which means “commandment”, referring to the “new commandment” given by Christ during the last supper.

In the Gospel of John, in lieu of the command to eat the bread and drink the wine – representing the body and blood of Christ – we find Jesus insisting on washing the feet of his disciples. They are embarrassed. This task belonged to the least of the servants in a traditional household. Jesus  was teaching them an attitude of service toward each other that would be instrumental in bringing the Kingdom of God closer.

Irvin and I did not spend this evening together since CIF and UPPC both had planned a potluck dinner that night. There would also be a time of worship and communion. At UPPC, we also would wash each other – not feet, but hands. This was a suggestion that came from my experience at CIF. We did so a few years ago.

Washing feet was a tradition at the time of Jesus, where everyone had to walk their way to their destination on the dry and dusty paths of the Middle East. People would walk with simple sandals or with bare feet. Today, in our western world, feet don’t need a washing after we get to our destination. Our hands, however, are the ones requiring cleaning. They represent our service and our actions. They also express our desire of transparency and sincerity. Historically, we shake hands to demonstrate we are unarmed.  

I checked on what people were saying on that topic on Christian websites. I was surprise to find a controversy about it! Those who insisted on washing feet felt that doing otherwise was betraying the Scriptures. “Jesus did not wash the hands of his disciples! Let’s dare and follow his example rather than focusing on making parishioners more comfortable by not requiring they let go of their shoes!”

Sometimes, I feel we should also dare contextualize actions and traditions.

Friday – the Cross and the Gift of Freedom

Nine stations were put together in UPPC sanctuary. Each of the stations represented a step on Christ’s journey toward the cross on this Friday, from the garden of Gethsemane to Golgotha. At each station, participants were invited to reflect on the trials endured by Jesus and on their own path. This was a project that required an enormous amount of work, in particular for the team that physically put together each station. Lots of visitors came and appreciated this journey in the heart of Good Friday.  

That night was also Passover night. Irvin and I drove to Seattle to be part of the celebration with my Jewish family. As my aunt Diane mentioned, Passover takes place this year right in the middle of Holy week, and on a Friday, that is on Sabbath night. We praised together God the liberator with prayers in Hebrew, which is a delight for me and we dipped the Karpas (usually parsley) in little bowls of salt water. This is a reminder of that in midst of tears, we can also already taste hope and renewal.

We praise God who frees us and we are invited to become aware of the responsibility that now lays on us : we must use this freedom to free our neighbors. If they stay oppressed, we are not truly free either.

I admire the way the liturgy is waived throughout the meal, and how children become part of it, not simply observers, but actors. The youngest at the table asks the ritual questions, starting by “Why is this night different from all the other nights?”. Children are also tasked with looking for the Afikomen, a piece of matzah (flat bread) that has been hidden previously. This Afikomen will be the dessert.

But we had more than a piece of matzah for dessert. We enjoyed the fruits of the extraordinary talent of our friend Emma Notkine, whose lemon and pistaccio cake (a flour-less cake, of course) was a true work of art. This was high cuisine – and Emma is hardly in her early twenties!

Saturday – a pause (and for pastors : time to feverishly write their Easter sermons)

And since I was not preaching, it was a welcome pause for me.

Sunday – He is risen.

Three services that morning at UPPC, and for those who work there, a parking further away to make room for the visitors. A little girl in a pink dress from a fairy tale was baptized at one of the services and she admitted that she hoped that the bruise she had on her face (a confrontation with another child during recess that week) would disappear with the baptismal water. 

During the contemporary service, a rap in the middle of the opening song, not exactly my kind of music, but this one was superb and occasioned an ovation from the surprised and delighted crowd. 

And Pastor Aaron, with the same enthusiasm, preached three times about the way God reaches us best when we are in the ground, in the deepest hole, in a grave like Jesus was.

It was Easter.

Then the discreet ritual that follows Easter… Rest for exhausted pastors.