Good Friday: At the Beach with Peter

A Good Friday service took place yesterday near UPPC, at St Andrew’s Episcopal Church. Every year, the Pastor invites the neighborhood churches of all denominations to be part of the service. I got to be one of the three pastors who shared a 5-minute message. The theme was “A Witness in Dark Times”. We chose texts from the Gospel of John. Mine was Peter meeting Jesus on the beach after the resurrection. (John 21:15-19)

As I was gathering my thoughts about this message during my commute time, the song “Rock me Tender” came on… A love song. And the text I was working on was also about love.

Anyway, here it is.

At the Beach with Peter – a Good Friday 5-Minute Sermon

“Don’t you know? I have never been loved like this before”.

I heard this line from a song, an oldie “rock me gently” by Andy Kim, and those words[1] made me think of Jesus, Jesus dealing with Peter, dealing with us.

It is true for each of us. Don’t we know ? We have never been loved like this before.

We receive forgiveness and grace, and because we love the one that loves us so much, the one that loved us first, we become disciples and we become shepherds.

Feed my lambs. Take care of my sheep, said Jesus to Peter. May your care, may your food comes from the place where the love you have for me dwells.

Peter was a sort of spoke-person for the disciples, the first to speak up for better or worse. The first to identify Jesus as the Messiah, which led to those famous words “You are Peter and on that rock, I will build my church.”[2] Yet the next moment, Peter shushed Jesus. “No, Jesus, stop talking about you dying soon, it will not happen”. Jesus had to tell him to move away from him and called him Satan[3].

It is so like us. We will boldly proclaim that Jesus is the Messiah, and in the same breath, we are so very ready to know better than Jesus.

In the worse night of his life, Peter promised he would die rather than let anything happen to Jesus[4]. He meant it! When Jesus was arrested, he took a sword and was ready to fight[5]. If Jesus had let him fight, Peter would probably have been the first to die. Those soldiers were numerous and had come with heavy weapons[6].

Peter had the courage to follow those who arrested Jesus. Only two, Peter and the unnamed disciple made their way to the high priest court. All the others had run away in the night. It was dark and cold. This is where Peter tried to stay warm by a fire, was asked questions and denied being a disciple and even knowing Jesus[7].

Did Peter go to fish that morning, after Jesus’ death, because he felt he was not worthy anymore of being a disciple? We don’t know. But we read about Peter overjoyed to see Jesus and jumping off the boat to meet him faster. 

Jesus built a fire, like the one in the high-priest courtyard where Peter had stood.

Just like Peter had denied Jesus three times, Jesus asked him “Do you love me?” three times. Each time Peter declared “You know that I love you” and Jesus then commanded him to take care of his sheep.

During this Holy Week, UPPC has opened a prayer where all can come in and spend some time in meditation and prayer. There is a notebook where anyone is welcome to write comments.

Someone wrote “God, my heart is heavy. I feel like Peter as the rooster crooked. Help me to become more committed and faithful to my Lord and Savior!”

The comment is anonymous and I wanted to tell the person who wrote it “The story does not end with the rooster, remember! Remember that you are loved, right now, like you have never been loved before – just as you are.

This is what we learn here. Peter is our witness.

From the cold and dark place where the denial happened, Jesus took Peter to the bright morning of a breakfast on the beach. He showed him – and us – that the care Jesus wants us to demonstrate comes from the place where our love and gratitude dwell. Not our sense of duty. Not our need to please. Not our belief we should earn God’s favor. No. Our love and gratitude - that’s it.

Being a shepherd is hard work. Jesus told us so in the Gospel of John[8]. The shepherd cares for the sheep, he is known by them, he is ready to give his life for them. He takes them to lie in green pastures[9]. He can do all this because he knows he was never loved like this before.

From this love that came first, we can love, minister and witness through the darkness.

For each hour in the dark and cold, there is a warm time in the morning light of our Lord. We are delivered and the horizon is open. We are free to love and be loved. Free to serve.

Amen

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[1] Song and Lyrics can be viewed on youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qIVX1_J_87s

[2] Matthew 16:18

[3] Matthew 16:23

[4] John 13:37

[5] John 18:10

[6] John 18:3

[7] John 18:18

[8] John 10

[9] Psalm 23

Picture by Jeroen Van Der Biezen http://saltandlighttv.org/blogfeed/getpost.php?id=52407&language=en

Macha Chmakoff rocks !

Lisa, my colleague at UPPC, and myself, in the midst of pictures of contemporary art, on our screens and on paper : that was us, in early February. Our goal : select art work meant to be the artistic support of each Lent week. The first one, starting on March 5^th, was about Jesus tempted in the desert.

Lisa showed me the picture of a painting that immediately impressed me : the pale figure of Jesus, isolated in the dunes, under a tormented sky. “The artist’s name is Macha Chmakoff, said Lisa, and I believe he is French. Would you email him?” Macha being short for Maria in Russian, I guessed that the artist was a woman. While writing the email asking the cost of using the picture of her painting, I kept repeating this name that sounded familiar. Could it be….?

Macha replied quickly and graciously. She allowed us to use the picture without asking for a fee. In my email thanking her, I asked her if she happened to have been a student of the Protestant seminary in Paris from 1996 to 1999. She said yes. That was her. She was a student too and already an artist. An exhibition of her work took place in the amphitheater of the seminary.

Today, March 5^th, Macha’s painting was on the screen of UPPC sanctuary. The spirit of the Protestant seminary in Paris is hovering over UPPC...

To look at more aspects of Macha’s art, click here. 

A Disingenuous Casserole

If you hear French people mentioning “faux-amis” (fake friends), they are probably not talking about disingenuous acquaintances but deep in linguistics. 

Faux-amis are words that look identical in both languages (French and English for us - it could be French and any other foreign language) but whose meanings differ.

Apparently, the linguistic word in English is “false cognates”.

For instance, if you talk to a French person about a casserole, this is more or less what you have in mind.

But unless your French friend has lived in the US, this is what they will picture.

Yes, in French, a casserole is a saucepan, something to cook in – never to be eaten.

As you can imagine, this "false cognate" has the potential to create many amusing misunderstandings in the kitchen.

I have enjoyed cooking casseroles and this breakfast one is one of my favorites. It is easy, forgiving and very flexible. You only need some cubed dry bread, that you mix with eggs (2 by person) you add some veggies you have on hand, sautéing or blanching them ahead if necessary, and shredded cheese. Bacon or sausage are tasty additions too.

It bakes for 30 minutes (or more if you are making a large casserole) at 350.

Bon appétit! 

Oh, and if you are hungry for a casserole in French-speaking country, ask for “un gratin” and you will be on the right path for a savory conversation! 

A Blessing for Leaders

Elizabeth concluded the retreat by reading this Blessing for Leaders by John O’Donohue. 

I translated it in French on my French blog – a fun challenge! 

This is actually a great read for leaders – and anyone having authority on anything and anyone, including one self.

May you have the grace and wisdom to act kindly,
learning to distinguish between what is personal and what is not.

May you be hospitable to criticism.
May you never put yourself at the center of things.
May you act not from arrogance but out of service.
May you work on yourself, building up and refining the ways of your mind.

May those who work for you know you see and respect them.
May you learn to cultivate the art of presence in order to engage with those who meet you.

When someone fails or disappoints you, may the graciousness with which you engage

be their stairway to renewal and refinement.

May you treasure the gifts of the mind through reading and creative thinking
so that you continue as a servant of the frontier
where the new will draw its enrichment from the old, and you never become functionary.

May you know the wisdom of deep listening, the healing of wholesome words,
the encouragement of the appreciative gaze, the decorum of held dignity,
the springtime edge of the bleak question.

May you have a mind that loves frontiers
so that you can evoke the bright fields that lie beyond the view of the regular eye.

May you have good friends to mirror your blind spots.
May leadership be for you a true adventure of growth.

Amen!

The painting is by Bill Jacklin, detail, Calle II, oil on canvas, 2008.

A Retreat Between Ocean and Mountains

“Sitting is the new Smoking!” That was Elizabeth’s statement, explaining why she stayed standing as she read us a blessing, opening the retreat that she was facilitating from her beautiful home for all leaders of the Presbytery – that is anyone chairing a committee and/or with responsibilities in the Presbytery of Olympia. 

That’s actually true, being sedentary brings the same kind of health risks than smoking, I read. Always good to keep in mind, even if we had gathered to get to know each other better and work on our creativity.

Olympic mountains are hardly visible above the horizon 

That last Thursday was sunny and cold, a very clear sky that allowed us to see the Mt Rainier over the Puget Sound on one side and the Olympic mountains on the other.

At one point, Elizabeth displayed many pictures of paintings and works of art, inviting us to pick one we were attracted to. I chose this one. 

As many people in ministry, I am an introvert who function as an extrovert at work. I need times of solitude to recharge, times where I look like she does, expressionless. 

I did not know when I picked that Edgar Degas, the artist, had made the portrait of “A Convalescent”. I am no longer a convalescent – but sure need “fallow” times to stay healthy. 

First Page

It snowed last night in our little corner of Pacific Northwest: the year is starting in a white surrounding that allows us to literally step out on untouched territory in this brand new year. A year that many of us apprehend more than any other.

“Optimism is the belief that things will get better. Hope is the belief that, together, we can make things better. Optimism is a passive virtue, hope an active one. It takes no courage to be an optimist, but it takes a great deal of courage to have hope.” - Rabbi Jonathan Sacks.[1]

Courage and hope: let’s grab those virtues as we face whatever may come next this year. To be followed…  

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[1] Quoted by Rabbi Bruce Kadden, in the News Tribune article “Faith Leaders Usher in 2017 with words of unity and hope” http://www.thenewstribune.com/opinion/article124007204.html

Raphaël Picon

When news, good or tragic, hit us, we remember our surrounding with great precision. Where were we when a man walked on the moon… when we heard that lady Di had died… when we saw the images of 9/11 for the first time…

I was sitting with Irvin in a Starbuck in Orlando, in Florida, the day before we flew home. I was absentmindedly looking through facebook on my phone. On my French friends pages, I saw several times pictures of a young man with blond hair, smiling. Before I could even read the captions, I understood and felt my heart sink. Raphael Picon had died.

Raphael was a theologian and a pastor who had spent several years in the US with his family, pastor of an American church. He became a Professor and Dean at the faculté de theologie de Paris where I studied, arriving after my time there had ended. 

As a Dean, Raphael had quickly disentangled issues I had as I was trying to gather evidences of my credits. This allowed me to see my “Licence de theologie” validated as equivalent of a Master of Divinity, saving me from three additional years of seminary.  

I eventually met Raphael and his wife Cécile thanks to our common friend Olivier. Both of them worked with passion on the magazine Evangile & Liberté. We enjoyed several lunches and dinners together, meeting at the home of Olivier and Aurélie, the six of us abundantly talking about churches and seminaries, families, children and travels. Raphael and Cecile were fluent in English which helped Irvin to be part of the conversations.

A few weeks after our last encounter, Raphael found out that he had a brain tumor. Such a diagnosis could have created a total unraveling. Instead, he calmly started a treatment of daily chemo and radiotherapy while reading the drafts of his last book on Emerson “le sublime ordinaire” (daily or ordinary sublime). 

In a warm email, he thanked me for asking the prayer chains I belong to pray for him. One of his friends had slipped a prayer for him in the Western Wall in Jerusalem, he mentioned. Those initiatives meant a lot to him. But after those months of harsh treatments, another tumor was found and this time was not operable. From then on, news never ceased to be bad news. Until now.

I wished I could have gone to the memorial services and to the ceremonies at the Faculte de theologie. I thought a lot – I still do – about Cecile. We share the same first name, and years at the same high school although we did not know each other yet. Thanks to Olivier, I was able to read the testimony of his oldest son, who is 15, which ends that way:

“My father accepted his illness naturally as well as his upcoming death. And he did so for us, for the livings. He never expressed any concern about our future, the future of the four of us. He never gave us advice, because he trusted us, his “ordinary sublime”. He was convinced that life would resume if it had even ever stopped. He fully accepted suffering and death, to the point he led us in forgetting about it – and maybe forgetting it himself – in an ultimate and eternal gesture of life.”

What is a blessing? Irish poet John O’Donohue says it is “a circle of light drawn around a person… a gracious invocation where the human heart pleads with the divine heart. When a blessing is invoked, a window opens in eternal time.”

The life of Raphael, his books, his family and the memories he left behind are such blessings. The windows he left open for us have sowed and enriched our existence.