If you have followed my blog for awhile, you know that I used to share my sermon notes after church every Sunday. I still take sermon notes every Sunday, but not always in poetry now, and not always shared. I just got outta the habit. But, today’s sermon begs to be shared. It’s Palm Sunday… the start of Holy Week for us Christians. It’s a time to share our faith. That’s one of Jesus’ commandments! So here’s what I heard our interim minister, Brian Conklin, say today:
Jesus rode a donkey on a path of pain, Not a magnificent steed’s ride of triumph. The crowd expected a powerful leader – Not a man who would die a horrific death!
Was Jesus alone in His heartbreak? Was He alone asking, “Take this cup?” Was He alone saying, “Not My will… But Your Will be done?”
Jesus died a “flop” in the eyes Of His followers. They misunderstood. They didn’t believe the message: “I’ll die, but in three days I will live again.”
Obedience, care, compassion, humility – These were the Lordship of Jesus. Peace… and a willingness to suffer… These were His expressions of Power.
The Way of Jesus wasn’t domination. Not then – not now – So tell me, Which parade are you following? Which path do you choose?
Complacency, complicity, cruelty, pride? Love, humility, obedience, compassion? I choose the latter path – but the road is painful! Really? The Via Dolorosa… the way of suffering?
What path do you choose?
Back at home, I decided to do a little research. That path of suffering is sometimes known as Via Crucis (Latin for “Way of the Cross”). It is a processional route in the Old City of Jerusalem. It represents the path Jesus took, forced by Roman soldiers On His way to His crucifixion. It’s the winding route from the former Antonia Fortress to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. It is a celebrated place of Christian pilgrimage. The current route has been established since the 18th century. It is marked today by 14 Stations of the Cross. Nine of them are outside, in the streets, with the remaining five being currently inside the Church of the Holy Sepulchre.
AI generated this image of Via Dolorosa in Jerusalem. My “Path of suffering” doesn’t look like that. It’s not paved. It is much more like that first one: dark, barren, windey, foreboding. Jesus didn’t promise us a bed of roses. During this Holy Week, We are asked to travel with Him as He is arrested, tried, scorned, rejected by His very followers, denied by Peter three times, and Ultimately put to death. That’s the path. It’s not a pretty one. But, don’t stop there! If Jesus had done so, He’d be a forgotten martyr!
Walk on with confidence! Remember where your chosen path leads! Amen?
Happy St. Patrick’s Day My bonus daughter, Elainè, certainly knows how to celebrateAnd our daughter, DeDe, in Switzerland does tooOur son, Ty in California, knows how to have fun with his granddaughter I hope your day is filled with happiness, too
Send some snow or rain our way, will you? We are very concerned about our missing winter and lack of moisture. Love,
Weekly we are given an invitation to write a six-sentence story using the word prompt from GirlieOnTheEdge. This week the word prompt was “Fly.”
I had fun trying to write about as long a sentence as I could for each of the paragraphs today. And I enjoyed giving you, my faithful readers a glimpse of my childhood from kindergarten to sixth grade. What do you think?
Time flies… but I can recall when I was a little girl of about five, my sister Sally and I walked from Fig Lane (where we lived in a lovely little two bedroom, one bath home with our parents) to P Street School in Newman, California where I was a happy little kindergartener.
Time flies, but I can recall… when I was six, my sister and I continued our daily walks (it was about a mile each way) to P Street School where I was a very happy, very outgoing first grader in Mrs. Awe’s classroom, my favorite primary grade teacher who kept in touch with me for the rest of her life, even after our family moved away.
Time flies, but I can recall… when I was seven, my dad quit his job as a mechanic at Newman Garage and he sold our lovely little two bedroom house on Fig Lane and we moved into an old house next door to my paternal grandmother, about five miles out of town.
Time flies, but I can recall… when I was eight, we moved to a remote house twenty miles from anywhere except the stinky Tallow Works that my dad owned with three sorta relatives who also had old houses moved onto the remote property and my sister and I walked about two miles to the bus stop every morning to go to Crows Landing’s Bonita Grammar School where Mrs. Yetter (who was almost bald and looked as old as Methusalah) was my 3rd grade teacher.
Time flies, but I can recall… when I was nine and ten we still lived out there in the sticks by the smelly Tallow Works and we still had that long walk to the bus stop every morning – and walked back at the end of the day – but my life was much better because Mrs. Horwedel was my 4th and 5th grade teacher and she was a wonderful square dancer who taught us all to square dance and she let me be the “caller” – – – I was in 7th heaven!
Time flies, but I can recall … when I was eleven and twelve Mrs. Marlow was my teacher and she let me fly to my highest potential by recognizing and rewarding my talents by letting me go every day during spelling time (because I didn’t need it) to the kindergarten where I volunteered to help the teacher … and learned early on that I wanted to be a teacher, too, someday.
Yay!! Today’s snow is an answer to prayer. We have desperately needed the moisture. Isn’t it beautiful?
That’s our house behind the snow-laden trees.
And our Kenny absolutely loves it!
Crazy pup!!
Have a beautiful Thursday afternoon/evening, my friends.
I attended an art workshop this week. We all painted butterflies. 🦋 Mine’s not as good as I had hoped, but I had fun doing it. That’s what counts, right?
