I love the seasonality of liturgical Christianity -- the annual repetition of the stories through which we encounter mystery and our fraught humanity.
In celebration of this year's Holy Week, I'm declaring this blog a Donald Trump-free zone at least until after next Sunday, until after Easter. It is certainly not that I think politics can somehow be divorced from our enduring stories. Politics is a vital and honorable aspect of how we live out our humanity. But I don't want this year's electoral horror show to become a devouring obsession. We'll repudiate this racist demagoguery in our own good time. Meanwhile, I'll relish a week with other concerns.
We sang this poetic rendering of the Jesus story in church yesterday. Audio version here. The author was an English clergyman, Samuel Crossman, writing in 1664. Those 17th century (male?) writers were uninhibited about expressing emotion to a degree that shocks in our anxious and ironic time. I delight that this is preserved among us.