Each and every Sunday, when we gather in this place to worship, there is a certain amount of scurrying and adjusting.
Once they had put away the dishes from the Last Supper, and after they had put away the bucket with the water where Jesus had washed the disciples’ feet, Jesus goes on to talk about the love of neighbor in various ways and different terms.
As we read about a Love that reaches beyond all boundaries and goes past all limitations, we think, we ponder, we wonder about the great depths of the Love of God. For we have always talked about what we know, in order to discover more about what we do not yet fully know.
We live in this world of constant activity, where it feels like we have to pray with one eye open, or we might miss something essential—because we live in a world of 140-characters-or-less.
Because of its unique outline of the cross, one symbol for Christ throughout the history of the Church has been an anchor. And, the larger the boat and the bigger the ocean, the deeper and the wider the anchor must be.
We should never speak of sin or forgiveness, as if the two of them shall never meet. We must be careful, because confession is quite powerful. It’s why we need the church: so we do not have to do this alone.
If we were to drive up to that intersection between what is both true and helpful, one Easter practice that we would find right there in the middle is the practice of prayer.
We sit in this place of worship—this sanctuary of God—and our feet, theologically, will just not quite reach the floor. We dangle in this space between belief and doubt, certainty and uncertainty.