Living Resurrection, Expect Scarring

 

Let me be clear! Revelation is a letter written to the churches of Asia Minor. Just as Paul wrote to early Christian communities, so too did John. The letter is written in a time of Christian persecution at the hand of the Empire of Rome. The letter is subversive – meaning it challenges and goes against the Empire. It is encrypted – meaning it is written in code with plenty of symbols. It is a letter to encourage the church at a time of persecution to remain faithful and to share the Good News of Jesus’ resurrection through action.

Let me be clear, while it is apocalyptic and prophetic, it is not directly written about or to us. In times of trial and persecution apocalyptic literature resonates with the hearer because it reflects lived reality. The prophetic in Revelation is the bookend to creation as told in Genesis. Although the world is currently broken, there will be a time of completion of the covenant promises heard throughout the scriptures; God’s vision will come to be in its fullness.

 

A colleague who writes under the pseudonym ‘The Sour Theologian’ says:

Easter is completely political.

The crucifixion was a very clear political statement by Rome to anyone who might stand up to it, or call into question its power and authority.

Declaring resurrection of someone who was executed in this way is also a very clear political statement that Rome, or any other wannabe empire, does not have the final say.

Christians are not called to follow empire.

Christians are called to follow the crucified and risen one.

Into the political realm.

Because Easter is completely political.

 

On this second Sunday of Easter are you prepared to follow Jesus? On the eve of election day, are you prepared to take Easter with you when you vote?

The Empire crucified Jesus, hoping to bring an end to his work and message, and to thwart and dissipate his followers. The Empire was not about to welcome an alternative kind of rule, a collaboration of authority, or a sharing of power. The Empire was not about to lift the average out of poverty, the sick into wholeness, or the slave into freedom. The Empire was not about to be tolerant of religion, of the customs of the places they occupied, or of groups they deemed anti-establishment. The Empire did not care one iota about the common people or their welfare. The Empire decided who was a citizen and did not take responsibility for anyone else. The Empire daily increased it borders, occupying lands, exploiting and consuming resources. The Empire had an economic system that kept the Empire rich and its populace hungry, overworked, and precariously housed.

 

Jesus was about none of these things. In his teachings, parables, miracles, actions, conversations, and exchanges -repeatedly and continually- an anti-Empire message was presented.

In Revelation, John draws attention to the scars of Empire in his description of Jesus’ coming – the One to come is pierced. This is no accident. This is Good News, for the One who was killed has been resurrected by a power greater than the Empire. The scars remain as a constant reminder of the brutality of Empire juxtaposed to life-giving community in Christ.

 

John’s letter to the seven churches, is a letter addressed to the church plural. The use of a series of plural pronouns speaks to the understanding of the universal and communal nature of God’s church. From the beginning, John’s letter emphasizes community, and that resurrection is a communal affair. Jesus Christ, John writes, made us to be a kingdom, priests serving his God.

Let me be clear! As one reads through Revelation, if not distracted by the encryption symbols lost to us, hearers hear the message that God does not act alone. Resurrection is a communal affair. The introductory words of the letter of Revelation are warning hearers that Christ’s resurrection, resurrection from death at the hand of Empire, is Good News but --- communities can expect scars, even loss of life. Why is it that Revelation scares a lot of readers and hearers? Because the letter pointedly tells the church what living resurrection means.

Revelation is filled with vivid images of blood and fire, the wielding of power, imprisonment and torture, and so on. The Empire is described with a lack of conscious and plenty of violence. The Empire is beyond itself, frantic in chaos, trying to control the springing up of resurrection. Despite the Empire’s fierce tactics to stop it the seven churches are practicing, to greater-and-lesser degrees, following the example of Jesus. John’s letter is to commend the faithful and encourage where faith is weak.

 

This making us to be a kingdom, priests serving his God is about living resurrection. In this letter living resurrection is standing in opposition to Empire. Resurrection is faith community standing up to Empire demanding justice – and yes, Revelation is scary because Easter is scary, in living Easter you will most assuredly acquire scars.

 

 One of my seminary professors, who was an activist to his core, often remarked that the ‘church is not being the church unless it is being persecuted.’ What he meant by this was the church community was failing to follow Jesus and Jesus’ call to address the Empire because the Empire took no notice. Jesus was killed by the Empire because the Empire noticed Jesus. Jesus was under their skin and the community around Jesus was growing in hope, in health, in community mindedness, and was empowered to work for and seek justice. The Empire noticed. Following the resurrection, and the proclamation that ‘Jesus is alive!,’ as thousands of believers were baptized, as many lived in community, as the hungry were fed, as the sick were healed, as widows/orphans/and others were cared for, and slaves were set free - the Empire noticed. The Empire took offense and responded by ferociously persecuting Jesus’ followers.

 

Christians are not called to follow empire. Christians are called to follow the crucified and risen one.

Into the political realm. Because Easter is completely political.

If this statement doesn’t sit well with you, Revelation will not sit well with you either. And that is okay –

There is still time – but as John reminds us, the time is near – to turn from Empire and follow the crucified and risen one. Into the political realm.

Revelation is a letter written by John in love for the church in Asia Minor. It is written with love and encouragement for a community in peril. It is written from the depth of belief in Jesus Christ and Christ’s resurrection and that resurrection is a community affair. It is written as words to stoke fire and passion that opposes Empire in all its forms and makes people uncomfortable, scared even, until accepting the call to be a kingdom, priests serving – living resurrection with the expectation of scarring.

 

 

New Testament Professor Anna Bowden at Louisville Presbyterian Theological Seminary sums up the Revelation passage for this morning: “This short passage from Revelation, as it turns out, is packed with the hope of Easter. It reminds God’s faithful that God is in control and that God does not act alone. It beckons us to pay attention and to look for the evil ways of empire in our own imperial context. And it encourages us to serve those who experience violence at the hands of power, rather than the powerful themselves. This is good news indeed!”

The Three Days: Repose, Despair, Respair ( Part 3)

  

The Three Days are ancient in Christian observation. For centuries the rituals and liturgies have cradled believers, opening safe space to relive the emotion fraught passion of Jesus and embrace the counter-cultural audacious Gospel. Immersion in this powerful series of events situates the faithful to be fully present in the world, and amid fear break-open fulfilment of God’s promises. Through these Three Days each sermon reflects on one of three responsive approaches garnered from the Gospel to navigate and care for the world as we know it. The responsive approaches are: repose, despair, and respair. 

 

Respair: A state of fresh hope; a recovery from despair

 

That’s the conclusion of the sentence from Good Friday. Respair.

Most certainly respair. The women have solemnly walked to the tomb, wrapped in cloaks coated with despair. As they reach the grave, it is perplexingly open. Stunned, shoulder-to-shoulder they squish together to poke their heads into the cavern. The musty damp air pulls on them, seeps into their cloaks. And then in an instant -as their eyes adjusted to the dimness, a growing awareness solidified in them: Jesus was not among the dead – the stale air surrounding them was sucked into the void taking with it the despair that had clung to their cloaks.

Resurrection dawns. Patient hope blossoms again, only it is not so patient. This resurrection respair ushers them out into God’s garden, God’s world. If there was ever a time to yell OMG, Oh my God, this is it!

Unbounded, with hope germinating in each step, they rush to tell the disciples and other followers.

Jesus is alive.

 

A week ago, I came across a meme that read: “Both faith and fear demand you to believe in something you cannot see. You choose.”

Both faith and fear demand you to believe in something you cannot see.

 

The women chose faith, faith flourishing in respair. The disciples – still smelling of despair - chose fear. We hear Luke describe the scene as the apostles presuming the women were telling an idle tale, chose not to believe them.

Except for Peter – there was something about the patient hope of the women that wears on Peter, their enthusiasm disturbs his despair, sews something deeper in him. The women’s respair seems to be mending his hurt. He is drawn to go investigate. Jesus is alive!

 

And I wonder  -  the choice of faith or fear? The women were present at the cross side-by-side, patient hope bearing the suffering of Jesus to the very depths of despair, to death and from there to resurrection, to respair, to life.

And Peter, Peter too went with Jesus at a distance to the courtyard, denying Jesus he too sat in the depths of despair. Was it this experience of despair – nudged by the women’s story-  that was the turning point from fear to faith?  With fear and trepidation, and the respair of the women, Peter mends, heals enough to see the bigness of it all. Jesus is alive!

Perhaps the other disciples and followers fled, fled that night in the garden and avoided the plunge into the despairing events that ended in death, and thus, to choose faith was momentarily unavailable for they had avoided despair.

Both faith and fear demand us to believe in something we cannot see.

Jesus performed signs and wonders. Jesus turned water to wine, multiplied loaves and fish, cast our demons, cured the lame, raised the dead. All while preaching a counter-cultural audacious Gospel and the immediate coming of God’s kindom.

On that morning at the empty tomb, whelmed with respair, the women embark into resurrection. Everything in their being changed.

 

It is impossible to explain the internal shift, how the hearing of the words Why do you look for the living among the dead? blew despair from their shoulders and filled their spirits with conviction of resurrection. Jesus is alive!

Even more astonishing was faith that in Jesus’ resurrection God’s kindom came!

And yet, the world remained much the same: the Roman Empire still occupied Jerusalem and Judea, sedition still brought death, poverty was rampant, the sick were still sick, the hungry were hungry, justice was for some and not others.

 

The counter-cultural audacious Gospel preached by Jesus and the immediate coming of God’s kindom, blossomed in the respair of the women. Respair was a new hope, a faith of full resurrection, although living in a reality of continued shadow and suffering; being at peace in the complexity of that. A peace where the kindom was present and yet not fully here. Respair was living resurrection as a work in progress.

 

Consider resurrection moments, those times when respair of generations has ushered into the world change, a movement from fear to faith. Glorious, Alleluia moments … yet still resurrection in progress because the change is in the spirit of those who have been in repose, sat in the depths of despair, and been whelmed by respair --- resurrection blossoms --- and the world is released from bondage, healed in part by the respair of the faithful.

That resurrection, Alleluia moment is healing but not the end of the story-

The glorious alleluia of Emancipation was not an end to slavery.

Black Lives Matter was not an end to racism.

Legislating women’s right to vote was not an end to sexism.

Flying Pride and inclusion flags was not an end to homophobia or transphobia.

#MeToo was not the end to misogyny.

World Inter-faith Harmony Week was not the end to antisemitism, Islamophobia, or anti-Christian sentiment.

The Truth and Reconciliation Commission was not an end to the work of Treaty negotiation and reconciliation.

Brokered ceasefires are not the end to war.

Social assistance is not the end of poverty.

Vaccination and medical advances are not the end of illness or death.

Green energy and recycling are not the end of addressing climate crisis.  

 

Although not yet complete, all are glorious alleluia resurrection moments, sprouting from the ashes of despair, blossoming in respair—humans choosing faith over fear. Resurrection comes in the work towards lasting and abundant justice, the fulfilment of God’s kindom and God’s promises, life and life abundant.

 

Faith and fear demand us to believe in something we cannot see. Resurrection, respair, is choosing faith for the healing of the whole world. 

The Three Days: Repose, Despair, Respair (Part 2)

 

The Three Days are ancient in Christian observation. For centuries the rituals and liturgies have cradled believers, opening safe space to relive the emotion fraught passion of Jesus and embrace the counter-cultural audacious Gospel. Immersion in this powerful series of events situates the faithful to be fully present in the world, and amid fear break-open fulfilment of God’s promises. Through these Three Days each sermon reflects on one of three responsive approaches garnered from the Gospel to navigate and care for the world as we know it. The responsive approaches are: repose, despair, and respair. 

 

Despair: A state of utter loss of hope or confidence

 

“Blessing,” station nine of the Stations of the Cross that is currently in the church hall, shows a hand in the pose of blessing. In the upper background, lined side-by-side across the width of the poster are women. The poster says that a great number of people followed him and among them were women.

 

As the Gospel continues, the women are lined side-by-side observing the despairing event of Jesus’ death. Or rather, the women are in repose – patient hope bearing Jesus’ suffering; this shoulder-to-shoulder presence is their responsive action of having love for Jesus and for one another. Sorrow, grief, and patient hope are companion to Jesus’ call of despair, “My God, my God why have you forsaken me.”

The Doctrine of Despair is described as losing one’s belief in God’s capacity to forgive. Medieval tradition called this the ‘sin against the Holy Spirit.’ Despair has been named as the sin against hope. At that moment as the sky turned as night, Jesus’ last breath of air is heavy with despair.  

 

The women present – the world- ache with the weight of Jesus’ sorrow and despair.

 

And yet, there is electricity in the air, between the women shoulder-to-shoulder.

For a moment their patient hope is overwhelmed by sorrow and despair.

 

Psychologist Gretchen Schmelzer describes the moment: Despair is a turning point. In a state of despair you see the bigness of it all – and because of that you are freed from a world of simplistic duality – of there being an easy answer, of it being this-or-that. Despair helps you hold the complexity, which is the only real hope of healing. 

 

In the depths of despair, despair has a seed of redemptive nature. Embraced despair has the miraculous power to set one free – to set humanity, the world, free.

In a few minutes we participate in the Solemn Reproaches, an ancient liturgical pattern that articulates an intentional decent into despair, naming human rebellion along side God’s continued acts of faithfulness.

 

Author Kathleen Norris describes despair, despair is when our lives are on the line and unwelcome changes obliterate our sense of God’s presence. In this despair, the women at the cross, us sitting shoulder-to-shoulder, are once again graced with the redemptive nature of despair, in bearing witness to the bigness of it all we are freed from a world of simplistic duality and of easy answers. We are gifted with a power to embrace and hold complexity – in Jesus’ last breath of despair- the world, humanity was given the only real hope of healing.

 

As we sit shoulder-to-shoulder at the foot of the cross, we welcome despair … that turning point … from death…… to …..

THE THREE DAYS: REPOSE, DESPAIR, RESPAIR (Part 1)

 

The Three Days are ancient in Christian observation. For centuries the rituals and liturgies have cradled believers, opening safe space to relive the emotion fraught passion of Jesus and embrace the counter-cultural audacious Gospel. Immersion in this powerful series of events situates the faithful to be fully present in the world, and amid fear break-open fulfilment of God’s promises. Through these Three Days each sermon reflects on one of three responsive approaches garnered from the Gospel to navigate and care for the world as we know it. The responsive approaches are: repose, despair, and respair. 

 

MAUNDY THURSDAY - REPOSE

 

Repose: A state of resting after exertion or strain.

 

When I was a young adult, I vividly remember encountering a poster with a drawing of the Last Supper. The figures in the sketch were gathered around low tables, facing each other either sitting or partially reclining on cushions. They were laughing and talking. There were various emotions shown on the faces around the food-filled tables. It was obvious it was the Last Supper, prominent were a chalice shaped cup and a loaf of bread by Jesus. With Jesus there were 12 other men. The drawing included a couple of women too, and a child, and a dog. I remember the scene because I was captivated by the joy on the faces of those gathered and the liveliness of the conversations. At the same time the artist captured underlying heavier feelings and the grave importance of this supper. The gathered friends belonged around the table and were relaxed in each other’s presence….and …there was a dog. The depiction on the poster captures for me the idea of repose.

 

Regardless of which Gospel we read, the Last Supper – this celebration of Passover for Jesus and friends – happens in an intimate cocooned setting that is juxtaposed to heightened anxiety and turmoil on the streets of Jerusalem. Honouring tradition Jesus and followers gather for a sacred meal and settle into repose. Not only have disciples been busy acquiring a room and making preparation, but there has been travel to Jerusalem, a dramatic entrance into the city, and Jesus has been pointedly focused on provoking God’s justice aggravating authorities in the process. Needed on this night was a moment of repose. The Passover gathering relaxed into familiar words and designated foods, recalled a great series of miracles, celebrated the emancipation from Egyptian slavery and the making of a people, and reflected on the theme of divine redemption.

 

This moment of repose happened at a critical time. The gathered community were reminded who they were, what they were about, how they were to go about living, and why all of it mattered. Here repose is a gift of belonging, encouragement, trust, and faith-building. Knowing what lies ahead for this group, for Jesus, this moment of repose is important because it fills those gathered with stamina and courage to face soon-to-be inner circle betrayal, hostile authorities, anxious crowds, and despairing events.

 

Around the table, with friends, Jesus expands the Passover celebration adding a washing of their feet, not for the foot-washing itself, but as an act that demonstrates the command to ‘love one another.’ This responsive action grows from a place of repose.

 

Pierre Teilhard de Chardin wrote: The longer I live, the more I feel that true repose consists in ‘renouncing’ one’s own self, by which I mean making up one’s mind to admit that there is no importance whatever in being ‘happy’ or ‘unhappy’ in the usual meaning of the words. Apt words for reflection on this night. I reflect on the image of the Last Supper from the poster I told you about. There were those who had their heads thrown back in laughter and those with more serious expressions. I have never thought that the disciples gathered with the forethought of being happy or unhappy by participating in the supper. When I come to church, I don’t consider first whether it will make me happy or unhappy. I will admit that in everyday life, there are times and situations, where I do pre-decide if an activity will make me happy, and sometimes I avoid that which I deem will make me unhappy. De Chardin points out that I miss the point. Jesus’ point. Provoking God’s justice. Belonging in a history of God’s redemption. Washing feet. All of this is what matters. The approach to life amid troubles and suffering, is not happiness or unhappiness, it is love one for another. It is repose – resting from strain and exertion – the exertion of my own will, the strain of ego, the striving to succeed, the effort of judging, the strain of perfection or production – and stepping away, turning around, falling into repose within community means inner change so the responsive action is none-other than labours of love.

 

Good Friday’s service begins with a reading from Isaiah, one of four Servant Poems. This one titled, The Suffering Servant. Renowned author Kathleen Norris writes that the prophet Isaiah through the Suffering Servant poem models how God works, writing that the Suffering Servant is describing anyone of God’s faithful who willingly and humbly takes on suffering as the cost of giving witness. She articulates that the Suffering Servant does their work not in arrogant assertion of power but through a patient hope.

Patient hope. We don’t get to such a responsive action without repose.

Norris talks about childbirth and chemotherapy, as examples of patient hope, a suffering or pain that bear evidence that the pain or suffering are worth the struggle; that the joy to come will be greater than the struggle.

This is the question that sits with diners at the Last Supper. Is God’s kindom, are God’s promises, are the words of the prophets, is the work of the Messiah, is bringing God’s justice, … is the struggle to have all this fulfilled worth it? Will the joy to come be greater than the struggle?

 

Tonight, at this opportune time, we have gathered in community seeking reprieve, purpose, belonging, and encouragement. We repose in familiar words and experience rituals that remind us: who we are, what we are about, how we are to go about living, and why all of it matters.

 

Tonight, we set aside our wills and egos, our judgements and expectations, our success and production—we partake in repose that we might be filled with patient hope to bear the suffering of the fulfilment of God’s promises, the struggle of bearing witness to a counter-cultural audacious Gospel, and the responsive action of having love one for another.

You Will Not Always Have Me: Mirror and Magnify Love

 

It was at the house of Simon the Leper in Bethany. No, no, the event happened at the house of Simon the Pharisee in Galilee. I agree that the event was in Bethany, but it happened at the house of Lazarus.

 

Well, there is no question that it was a woman who put ointment on Jesus’ head. You mean a sinful woman anointed Jesus’ feet with ointment and tears.  No, it was costly ointment with nard and no tears, followed by wiping the feet with her hair. Really folks, it was Mary of Bethany.

 

Can we agree that there was objection to the act of anointing. Oh yes, Simon the Pharisee is clear -what righteous man would allow a woman to touch him in that way. No, the objection came from the disciples. No, it was ‘some people’ who stated that the ointment could have been sold for a large sum of money and given to the poor. Mmmm - It was definitely Judas.

 

The story of Jesus being anointed is uniquely told by each Gospel writer. The nuances in the story aren’t there to dissuade us from following Jesus or interpreting the scripture as anything but the Word of God. The nuances of the story allow for a deeper reflection on the pieces and characters in the story. It is a story rich and heavy with feelings, contradictions, and touching themes humans prefer to ignore. Each Gospel illuminates an alternative path of exploration, opening up a wealth of knowing and a variety of applications.

 

The context of this story from John’s Gospel is important to note as we reflect on the story of Mary anointing Jesus. Much of the previous chapter, Chapter 11, is the telling of the death of Lazarus. The story is graphic in the details of death. There is a tomb closed with a stone. There is a dead body inside wrapped in cloth.  And as Martha states when Jesus wants to open the tomb, there is already a stench of death.

Time has passed. Jesus, in chapter 12, returns to Bethany and there is no stench of death. In contrast today’s story tells of the air being rich and heavy with expensive and extravagantly used fragrant ointment.

 

The context of this event at Lazarus’ house is important. This is not just a happy story of Jesus visiting his friends and sharing a meal. The ointment used for anointing was ointment used at burials to prepare the dead body and honour the dead. Imagine being gather in a room with a group of people around a table, shoulder to shoulder. One might think of a cozy Thanksgiving or Christmas dinner with a warm room full of friends and family. If one adds fragrant ointment into the scene, what happens? The smell is strong and it permeates everything! The room would smell like a tomb after the burial preparations with spiced ointment was complete. I wonder if the author realized the image created - this group is in a tomb of sorts.

I say this because context matters. In chapter 11, after the raising of Lazarus, Jesus’ life is threatened. Verse 54 states that, Jesus therefore no longer walked about openly … In chapter 12: 9-11, while at the intimate inside dinner party, those outside Jesus’ circle came, not only because of Jesus, but also to see Lazarus, … the chief priests planned to put Lazarus to death as well, since it was on account of him that many …  were deserting and were believing in Jesus. This whole story happens amid present danger and imminent threat of death.

 

This context changes how I hear and experience the story. With bounties on the heads of Jesus and Lazarus the whole conversation at the table is nauseatingly trivial; a conversational escapism and avoidance of matters at hand -matters of life and death.

Jesus enters the conversation to shut it down and redirect it to that of grave importance.

Jesus shuts down the conversation saying to Judas -and anyone else who would enter the argument - Leave her alone. Jesus then brings focus back to the point, you do not always have me.

And with that Jesus has articulated the deepest unspoken fear in the room. In that earthly tomb of trying to have a happy dinner party, smiles on faces, enjoying each others’ company, the truth is that they are all scared. Scared of the outsiders just beyond the door. Scared of what happens if -when- Jesus dies. Scared or troubled by the inevitable change brought about through the Messiah and the coming of God’s kindom. Scared to death by seven primal fear: death, rejection, failure, uncertainty, pain, the unknown, and loss of control.  

Jesus courts the conversation, you do not always have me.

 

For the reader of the story -you do not always have me- is most often read as a foreshadowing of Jesus’ death. However, what if it is meant to be more than that? In the Gospel of John the conversation that Jesus puts before his gathered followers is a conversation that doesn’t happen, or if it does it is not record. The story ends with Jesus speaking these words– you do not always have me. What if the conversation is left open because the statement is meant to centre our focus on Jesus who articulates humanities deepest unspoken fears?

Death, rejection, failure, uncertainty, pain, the unknown, and loss of control. All these fears are at work in this mornings Gospel text.

 

The context is import. Amid deep unspoken fears, Jesus is present for the followers gathered in Bethany – and present for us, not physically but in risen form and spirit form unknown to dinner party attendees of the 1^st century. We note that in Jesus’ presence much transpires that is wholesome and healing, life-giving:

Hospitality was given at the house of Lazarus. Martha served. Lazarus acted as host. Mary washed feet.

Judas asked a question. This question asked at any other time seems like the very sort of question the disciples would talk about, Jesus would teach on, or lead to the sharing of a parable.

The side comments, written in the text in brackets, about Judas’ stealing and his later betrayal of Jesus are added here in juxtaposition to the household of Lazarus. Perhaps harsh, for we don’t know why Judas’ stole from the purse. What is not noted in actual words, is that Jesus had Judas as one of the disciples. Whatever Judas did with the money from the common purse was from Jesus’ perspective not worth mentioning or confronting him about. Judas was included. Everyone gathered at the table and ate together.

 

 My takeaway from this reading of the Gospel story is a call to sit with Jesus’ statement, you will not always have me. If I sit with this statement and reflect on it, meaning on humanity’s -well my- deepest fears; rather than on the trivial conversations that occupy head and heart space, maybe then there will be wholeness, healing, and that which is life-giving in my own life and in the lives of others gathered at around the table.

 

Civil rights activist James Baldwin wrote – the longer I live, the more deeply I learn that love – whether we call it friendship or family or romance – is the work of mirroring and magnifying each other’s light. Gentle work. Steadfast work. Life-saving work in those moments when life and shame and sorrow occlude our own light from our view, but there is still a clear-eyed loving person to beam it back. In our best moments, we are that person for another.

 

In that fragrant rich room in the house of Lazarus of Bethany, Jesus states their greatest fear. Jesus sits in the truth that he is to die. The one who earlier in the Gospel states: “I am the Light of the World,” will not longer be light in physical form. Surrounded by death and the smell of ointment and in it being alive, knowing death will come, do not be afraid. God’s glory will soon be seen in Jesus’ radiance – love. Mirror and magnify each other’s light. You will not always have me, but I will be present among you. Watch for me in the face of a clear-eyed person beaming love towards you – for it is God’s love.