From Fr. Peter
This past Saturday I clambered into a single engine Cirrus and was flown to East Tennessee by Nick Bideler, to be reunited with my family after three weeks apart. The next morning, my family and I gathered in front of the television in my parent’s farmhouse and streamed the Palm Sunday liturgy (pretending I wasn’t the one officiating — these are strange times). We all prayed the prayers and listened to the sermon together. Together. 

We then packed our lunches, and set out on an adventure. We trekked along the stream that transect’s the family farm, sat in the warm sun, took in the birdsong, and the babbling of the water over the limestone as it made its way to the Nolichucky River. Inquisitive Lucy (5) found an old coyote skull and counted its remaining teeth, as Sylvie (3) watched with skepticism. After dinner, we played baseball (sort of) in the golden glow of the setting sun, enjoyed a brief rain shower from a small cloud as it passed overhead, then hunted for the rainbow. When we found it, Lucy proclaimed, “It’s God’s promise!” 

It was a full and beautiful day. A day that provided a respite from thinking about the virus. A normal day. A Sabbath. 

It was a day that I don’t take for granted for a single moment, knowing that there are so many physicians, nurses, orderlies, hospital staff, and scientists that are holding the frontline on the edge of a week that promises to be, as the Surgeon General put it, the “hardest and saddest” for so many Americans. At the close of my beautiful Sunday, I paused and said my prayers for those who didn’t get a sabbath, for those who mourn, and for those whose lives are closely linked to my own. I prayed for you. 
Today I am driving with my family back to our home. Today, on Holy Wednesday. 

And where is Jesus? The sun is setting in Jerusalem, the holy. And Jesus knows his journey will bring him to Calvary, the defiled: betrayal, humiliation, torture, death, and for the first time since before time: separation from his Father. Today’s Gospel reading begins with Jesus "troubled in spirit.” He declares to his friends, “Very truly, I tell you, one of you will betray me,” much to the distress of most of them. I’ve heard and read this account countless times, but something struck me as never before. This might have occurred to you, but it hasn’t occurred to me, that Jesus commands his very betrayal. You read that right. Jesus knows. Jesus is in charge — even in this.

Looking to the traitor he says, “Do quickly what you are going to do.” Jesus is in charge. Even though the disciples and his friends, are lost and afraid, Jesus is in charge. He is on a mission for your soul; for mine.

It is not lost on me for a moment that Holy Week in 2020 AD will coincide with the “Coronavirus’s worst week” here in the US. I am remembering that when Jesus entered into the world's suffering, he was in charge. He understands exactly what we are experiencing and is with us. We’ve been grieving our “way of life” for a few weeks now, and soon we will likely be grieving someone we love. We must have the impertinence to hope, the resolve to trust that Sunday is coming, the audacity to wait for the resurrection. That’s what this Holy Week is all about: Trusting that Jesus is in charge. 

Stand firm in faith. Hold fast in hope. And as I trust we’ll hear tomorrow on Maundy Thursday, love one another; knowing just how loved you are by the One who is in charge.

Your servant in the Lord,
Peter +   

  • Holy Week Schedule at www.csmsg.org:
  • Morning Prayer, Wednesday, Thursday 8:00 AM
  • Maundy Thursday 7:00 PM
  • Good Friday 12 Noon
  • Easter Sunday 10:00 AM

  • Be on the look out for a phone call from Church Receptionist Becky Arthur or other staff members, as we update our Realm directory.