My memories of Holy Week are considered quaint and irrelevant by many. The fluid, often free-form consistency of my recollections allows me to paint a picture with warm, healing hues of positive experience. I admit that I chose to leave out the hatred-filled conversations overheard about politics because I was uncomfortable then and even more so now. For instance, A senator from Wisconsin conducted horrible witch hunts in congressional chambers, inflamed and divided our nation, and ruined the careers of thousands of Americans. Adults I knew and admired were convinced that John F. Kennedy would be a pawn of the Pope and singlehandedly apostatize our beloved country. A few years later President Kennedy and his brother were assassinated along with a champion of civil rights, Dr. Martin Luther King. The "good old days" weren’t that good!
What warm and healing memories do I recall as we approach Holy Week 2015? Many etched into my lexicon of experiences are from the 50's and 60's. I remember Kresge’s, Woolworth’s and Montgomery Ward closing on Good Friday between noon and 3:00PM. Letter carriers interrupted their rounds. Service stations closed. Nearly every church was open. My father came home from work, dressed and took us to Gratiot Avenue Baptist Church – for three long hours! And then, we went to church in the evening, a particularly tedious two hours of slow songs about the cross and suffering followed by communion. Five hours of church in one day was torturous for a preteen boy, but the hues of memory accommodate me and the experience is now a warm recollection that supports faith and evokes feelings needed today.
My first Holy Week as a pastor was in the Spring of 1967. Our tiny congregation met with nearly a dozen other churches, filling the largest church in town. This newly-wed neophyte was in awe of the much more mature, robed and appropriately somber members of the assembled clergy. I cannot remember which of the "Last Seven Words" to which I was assigned to speak. My memory is in wonderful condition, but I don’t want to remember that first attempt.
When I was a boy my mother and an older sister helped my brother and me color hard-boiled eggs on Saturdays before Easter. I can still smell the vinegar! Do others remember using a wax crayon to write family names on the shells before dipping the eggs into the dye? Using a kind of paisley printed coloring seeped into my lexicon of recollections as I wrote this morning. Baskets with cellophane straw were brought from the attic. Each basket would be filled with candy after I was asleep. The eggs were hidden behind furniture, awaiting our search in the morning. Pat and I followed a similar tradition with our kids!
Ah, they were simple times, but deliberately planned occasions for reinforcing the all-important truth of the Gospel. Saint Paul’s terse statement was strongly at the forefront of our Holy Week observances, "Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners." (1 Timothy 1:15) There was little concern for being relevant or making sure that unchurched people understood the music. I learned Isaac Watt’s confession of faith and call to worship as a boy as we approached the communion table.
On which the Prince of glory died,
My richest gain I count but loss,
And pour contempt on all my pride.
Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast,
Save in the death of Christ my God!
All the vain things that charm me most,
I sacrifice them to His blood.
See from His head, His hands, His feet,
Sorrow and love flow mingled down!
Did e’er such love and sorrow meet,
Or thorns compose so rich a crown?
Were the whole realm of nature mine,
That were a present far too small;
Love so amazing, so divine,
Demands my soul, my life, my all.
It is unlikely that Macy’s, McDonald’s or Menard’s Home Improvement stores will roll back the calendar to accommodate my quaint recollections. But, I do hope that courageous pastors will boldly announce the Message that Jesus died for our sins on the cross, was buried in a borrowed tomb, and was resurrected on the third day. The Gospel was secured in Holy Week. I trust that as my grandchildren grow into adults that they will be able to recall memories that include the songs sung at the communion table and the gloriously triumphant songs of Easter Sundays. Let’s sing Robert Lowery’s almost 200 year-old Easter announcement one more time!
waiting the coming day, Jesus my Lord!
Refrain:
Up from the grave he arose;
with a mighty triumph o'er his foes;
he arose a victor from the dark domain,
and he lives forever, with his saints to reign.
He arose! He arose! Hallelujah! Christ arose!
Vainly they watch his bed, Jesus my Savior,
vainly they seal the dead, Jesus my Lord!
Death cannot keep its prey, Jesus my Savior;
He tore the bars away, Jesus my Lord!
I am ready! All together now . . .
