Last night I was at a united service for the Monday of Holy Week.  As I walked in, I could tell from the objects on the table that the focus was going to be the anointing of Jesus.  That's not right, I thought, today we do overturning the tables in the Temple.  But as I listened to the reading, which was from John 12, I realised something I have overlooked all my life...

Six days before the Passover Jesus came to Bethany, the home of Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead. There they gave a dinner for him. Martha served, and Lazarus was one of those at the table with him. Mary took a pound of costly perfume made of pure nard, anointed Jesus’ feet, and wiped them with her hair. The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume. But Judas Iscariot, one of his disciples (the one who was about to betray him), said, ‘Why was this perfume not sold for three hundred denarii and the money given to the poor?’ (He said this not because he cared about the poor, but because he was a thief; he kept the common purse and used to steal what was put into it.) Jesus said, ‘Leave her alone. She bought it so that she might keep it for the day of my burial. You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me.’

Six days before the Passover - whether this is the day the lambs are slaughtered or whether it is the "special sabbath" is a moot point - the events, according to John, happen near enough a week before the crucifixion/resurrection.  John, of course, has his clearing of the Temple story at the start of Jesus' ministry, not the end, chronology is not a big thing here, but presumably the six days has some significance...

It was a gentle service, with time to ponder privately the readings and reflections offered, some lovely hymns and a good place simply "to be".  It also made me pause and think how much I have shaped Holy Week in an image that has become familiar and comfortable, that I, too, need to disturbed or discomfited if only a little.

I knew, what to expect, Lord,

I knew that on this day we remembered that aspect of the story.

I knew that the choice was wrong.

But it wasn't wrong.

Unexpected,

Unfamiliar,

Whilst utterly familair...

And totally expected, if not just now.

Shake me out of my lazy familiarity.

Show me new insights.

Flood my senses with a scent of wonder.

Anoint my feet, my head

With hope,

With love,

With peace.

Traditionally the day when we think about Jesus ejecting the money-changers and animal-sellers from the Temple.  The day when the trappings of orthodox religion that had become a barrier rather than a blessing were named for what they were.  Which always gives me pause - what orthodox trappings might we have that prevent others from being able to seek for, or worship, God?

I guess we've all had to work through how we feel about the bake sales, the fairtrade stalls, the book stalls, the sponsored-event requests... but it has to be wider than this.  Sometimes on a Sunday we are all so incredibly busy with our alloctaed tasks or catching up with that person we need to speak to that perhaps we become our own barriers?  Oftentimes, in any church I know or have known, very elderly folk will lament the loss of a time when people came into church and sat quietly, preparing themselves for worship.  Today I ask myself what I might do better to enable others to experience worship, to have a place to pray, amidst the busyness of our fast-paced world.

It is written, this shall be a house of prayer for all people, but you have made it a den of thieves...

I'm sorry, Lord, for the times when my need to pass on a message, make an enquiry or catch up with someone I haven't seen for a while detracts, or distracts from their need, their desire for prayer

I'm sorry, Lord, for the times when I have been so busy attending to details of this or that aspect of the service that I haven't taken the time simply to sit in your presence

Overturn the tables of my distracted distracting and free me to encounter the one I say I seek.

Amen.

A very moving and beautiful service led by Sunday School to day... and a powerful tradition, the carrying in of a life sized cross with this muisc played by our pianist (this is the nearest I can find online).  gets me every time.... as indeed it should.

The photo dates back 2010, and seems a lifetime ago, as I guess, in many ways, it is.  This morning I am looking forward to participating in a service led by someone else which I know will be carefully and thoughtfully crafted, participative and meaningful.

As we stand on the brink of Holy Week, as blue skies (at least at the moment in Glasgow!) herald a new day, perhpas it is good to pause, be it everso briefly, savour the moment and maybe find ourselves transported out of time and space into the eternal now of God's shalom, and into a moment bursting with meaning.

Whatever you are doing today (or have done if you are an antipodean reader) may you find joy and blessing along the way.

This from someone I value as a friend is a measured and thoughtful response to the stuff from the BUGB.

I want to reaffirm that I have valued friends right across the range of honestly held views on this, and other topics, and we do exercise mutual respect... that means we don't ask each other, humbly or otherwise, to be or to do anything just because it makes us feel better or creates an illusion of unity.  Unity is not uniformity... to think it has to be sounds a tad cultish to me.

There are more hurting Baptists right now than people might realise, across the whole spectrum, people who value unity in diversity and who long to keep fellowship.  The Pauline body image notes that if one part hurts, we all hurt.  So to all my readers, whatever your view on human sexuality, please keep loving and talking and being authentic as we journey onwards together in Christ... I might be wrong, and so might anyone else.