Read: Psalm 22

I am poured out like water, and all my bones are out of joint; my heart is like wax; it is melted within my breast; my mouth is dried up like a potsherd, and my tongue sticks to my jaws; you lay me in the dust of death.
-Psalm 22:14-15

It has been ten years since the night Daniel almost died.

Ten years since I was pasted against the wall by the team rushing into the PICU at UC Davis Children’s Hospital after a Code Blue was called.

Ten years since I followed them down to Daniel’s PICU bay where I stood helpless as they worked on him, completely in shock.

Ten years since the UU chaplain held me as the doctor told me that they were putting Daniel on ECMO because they didn’t think they could bring him back a second time.

Ten years since the UU chaplain held my hair as I threw up into the wastebasket in the Family Room outside the PICU because my stress level was activating my fight-flight-freeze response.

Ten years since I called my twin brother and my former husband Jon to come and be with me at the hospital.

Ten years since I sat in the Family Room and wondered why God was forsaking me.

Ten years since I did one of the hardest things I’ve ever done by signing the ECMO paperwork.

Ten years since I cried all the tears my body could produce so that I wasn’t sobbing but starting to keen instead.

Ten years since the doctor walked in the room and told me that Daniel had improved with a few ventilator tweaks and that he would not be put on ECMO.

Ten years since I slept on the hard floor of the Family Room because Daniel’s room had to stay sterile in case he needed to be put on ECMO in the middle of the night.

Ten years since I simultaneously put God on notice while giving thanks for the miracle my child received.

Ten years since I came to the end of myself… and found that I was embraced and surrounded by God when my strength was utterly sapped,

Ten years since I stopped being able to participate in the Stations of the Cross on Good Friday without starting to cry at various points because I watched my son almost die.

Ten years since I received my son back alive.

Lord Jesus Christ, you stretched out your arms of love on the hard wood of the cross that everyone might come within the reach of your saving embrace: So clothe us in your Spirit that we, reaching forth our hands in love, may bring those who do not know you to the knowledge and love of you; for the honor of your Name. Amen. (Source: BCP, p. 101)
-Jen McCabe

Read: Psalm 55

If an enemy were insulting me, I could endure it; if a foe were rising against me, I could hide. But it is you, a man like myself, my companion, my close friend, with whom I once enjoyed sweet fellowship at the house of God, as we walked about among the worshipers.
-Psalm 55:12-14

Being wronged by someone you love and trust is the ultimate betrayal. Psalm 55 offers us a glimpse into David’s fractured heart as he mourns over the betrayal by a close friend and confidante. In 21st century language, we could say he was beside himself. How could this friend do this to me? And why?

In the early days of the COVID-19 pandemic, I gave myself time and permission to revisit a betrayal that occurred earlier in my life and had lain buried for decades.

As a young woman, I was repeatedly and violently assaulted by a man I loved. I ended the relationship abruptly after a life-threatening beating, and never took time to fully process my grief. And then I avoided talking about the assault for decades, not wanting to be stigmatized.

Last spring, I unpacked and revisited every detail of that long-ago relationship, from my long history with the abuser to the day I finally left (it’s amazing how clear your memory can be, even about events that occurred decades earlier). Although I didn’t feel the physical pain that I endured in the assault, I felt the emotional pain again as if the event had just happened.

It was the ultimate betrayal.

I mourned.

Over the next couple of months, I dealt with denial, anger, bargaining, and depression. As I sat with the assault fresh in my mind, I ran through the gamut of emotions, from irritability to stress to anxiety to outright rage. This ushered in other negative emotions, including resentment and even hate.

I credit my faith walk and prayer life—and God’s sustaining hand—as the reason I have come through this long-buried trauma stronger and more committed to Him, and even more devoted to helping those less fortunate.

Tonight, on Maundy Thursday, let us remember Judas’s betrayal of Christ, and feel the heaviness of Christ’s heart (on Good Friday, Christ will be betrayed again, this time by Peter, Pontius Pilate, and the mob).

Like David in this psalm, Christ cried out in distress in the dark night of His soul. As do we in times of utter despair. Like David, ultimately Christ trusted God’s will in His life. As must we as we press on toward a glorious Easter.

Dear Lord, let us trust in You, morning, noon, and night. Amen.

I cry to the LORD with my voice; to the LORD I make loud supplication.
-Psalm 142:1

This is a hard psalm for me to say. I was the youngest child. As kids, my brothers had little desire for my company. One of them took every opportunity to say and to do hurtful things to me, and when as a small child I cried, then I was a cry-baby, beneath contempt. Tormenting me seemed to be his hobby.

By age five or six, I had decided that it was better to be borderline invisible than to make a fuss about anything. Better to be ignored than to be vulnerable.

King David (or whoever wrote this psalm) considers it highly appropriate to “cry out” and make sure God hears – full volume, please! I shrink back. No fuss, please. Let ‘er rip, yes, in praise and song and celebration. But in times of physical or emotional pain or trouble, well then: whining is not okay; no one wants to hear that.

So as an adult, it’s been a bit of a revelation to discover that real men do cry. That real people learn to be open about who they are. Real people ally themselves with spiritual partners – real people seek out trustworthy listeners. And learn to be trustworthy listeners themselves.

I admire the human behind Psalm 142. This was someone who was wholeheartedly opening him/herself to God.

Not a bad model to follow.

Lord, we all know that short verse, “Jesus wept.” Thank you for leading us as you opened yourself to the fullness of your humanity which is lived in the fullness of God. Stay with us and be our Guide and Savior always. Amen.
-Tom Worrell

Read: Psalm 32

Many are the torments of the wicked, but steadfast love surrounds those who trust in the Lord. Be glad in the Lord and rejoice, O righteous, and shout for joy, all you upright in heart.
-Psalm 32:10-11

This psalm celebrates the joy of forgiveness and provides instruction as to how we should “acknowledge our sins” and “confess our transgressions to the Lord.”

Oh, how difficult it is to acknowledge our sins! We squirm; we hide; we pretend they never happened. Our stubbornness and pride take over and we bury our sins deep within where, as the psalmist tells us, our bodies dry up and there is no strength within us.
If only we acknowledge our sins and confess them, we will be forgiven. It’s that simple – and that hard. If we trust in God’s word, we will be surrounded by God’s steadfast love and can shout for joy.

Most merciful God, we confess that we have sinned against you in thought, word, and deed, by what we have done, and by what we have left undone. We have not loved you with our whole heart; we have not loved our neighbors as ourselves. We are truly sorry and we humbly repent. For the sake of your Son Jesus Christ, have mercy on us and forgive us; that we may delight in your will, and walk in your ways, to the glory of your Name. Amen. (BCP, p. 360)
-Cathey Frederick

Read: Psalm 123

To you I lift up my eyes, O you who are enthroned in the heavens!
-Psalm 123:1

My Dad taught me (from an early age) to “step on your eye.” I presume that was something he was taught, either as a child or as an enlisted man in basic training. I never asked him where he got the saying, and he never told me. Either way, his point was simple: “Watch where you’re going.”

The psalmist has enemies. When Israel was looking to enter the promised land, they sent in spies who returned with news: The people there are humongous giants. We are like grasshoppers in comparison. Rather than turning their eyes upon the One who led them out of slavery into Egypt, the people listened to the spies and decided they couldn’t tackle the task ahead. It was too big. The task was too great. They didn’t look up, nor did they look down. Instead, they looked back and remembered the meals they enjoyed in Egypt, but not the lashes they endured. They remembered the onions they ate, but not the tears they shed.

I think God calls us to look up, but we should also keep an eye out for where we go, for there are many roots to trip us up, holes into which to fall, and curves that could send us careening out of bounds. Ultimately, it is God to whom we look up, and who provides light for the paths we trod or tread. Either way, I plan to step on my eye as God leads me away from where it hurts.

God, grant me grace to lift up my face and dare to see in You all your wonderful glory. Remove from me the stains of my sins; bleach out those stains with the powerful light of your presence, and help me know when I look upon you, I do not see One hastening to scold, but One who desires my hand to hold. Amen.
-The Rev. Keith Axberg