Read: Matthew 21:1-11

“… your king comes to you, gentle, and riding on a donkey …”

Our focus this year is on community.

What is leadership? Jesus is the Good Shepherd. Shepherds lead us. A good shepherd leads us to still waters, fresh grass, and protects us as we trudge the valley of the shadow. Six weeks ago we saw Jesus “led” into the wilderness by the Spirit (Matthew, Luke), or “driven” by the Spirit (Mark). In the wilderness, Jesus was tempted. He was tempted in every way like us (says the author of Hebrews), but without sin (he adds).

It’s tempting to think Jesus had some sort of armor plating off of which sin bounced, or Teflon skin to which sin could not stick. But the point of the Bible is that Jesus was just like us: flesh and blood, fears and anger, frustrations and sadness, happiness and pain. At the risk of sharing heresy, I don’t believe Jesus was superhuman. I believe he shared in both the glory of what it is to be fully human (which he embraced), as well as its ugliness (which he, God helping, cast off).

There is a common adage that a leader leads by example. Amongst twelve-step groups there is a saying, “We have no leaders, just trusted servants.” Jesus comes into our lives as a trusted servant of the highest order. He comes into our lives riding on a beast of burden. It carries him; he carries us; we carry one another, through us he carries the world. We don’t lead through power or might, but by love, grace, and, ultimately, sacrifice. It is scary, but it is the way of Jesus – the way of the cross.

Let us pray. Jesus, I am ashamed. You carry a burden, and it is me. You endured betrayal. I betray you daily. You endured hardship and pain. How often I seek to find a softer, easier way. You have every reason to hate the world you have made, and yet it is not your desire to conquer and destroy, but to gather and save. Weak though we are, help us to be more like you, and less like those who sought to destroy you. Help us to carry on your work and share your burden, we pray. Amen.
–Fr. Keith Axberg

Read: John 11:1-45

I remember being jolted awake by the phone at 5:30 a.m. on July 1, 2005. On the other end of the line was C, a relative of a family in my former husband Jon’s parish in rural Minnesota. The family’s son E had been driving home from a bar when he rolled his truck and was ejected because he was not wearing his seatbelt. He died instantly, and Jon was called to come to be with the family as they had just been notified. Jon begged me to go with him, so I threw on sweats and jumped in the car with him. We pulled up to the family’s farm 30 minutes later, and I walked into a house where people were sobbing and wailing. I spent the next hour alternating between being a shoulder on which people were sobbing and trying to help another parishioner make food to feed people. The local funeral director arrived eventually to talk to the family about arrangements, and I accompanied Jon and the family to the funeral home to see E. I remember standing there feeling helpless as E’s paternal grandparents sobbed on my shoulders and E’s mother was bent over her son’s body sobbing.

The next week was an example of the positive ways a church community mourns and takes care of their people. E’s father was supposed to be shipping cattle the day his son died, so other people from the parish showed up to the farm with their trucks and took care of it for them. The standard Midwestern Lutheran comfort food was brought to the farm by families in the parish, and E’s mother was the recipient of the first prayer shawl made by the parish’s new crocheting/knitting group. I spent Sunday morning sitting with E’s grandparents while others in the parish surrounded his parents and brothers to keep them from being alone. The funeral was very well-attended as E’s high school reunion had just happened and his classmates were the honorary pallbearers. The women’s groups from the two churches in the parish made all the food for the funeral lunch, and everyone left well-fed. I still remember all of it 17 ½ years later, and it remains one of the better memories I have of that parish.

Lord, you tell us that those who mourn are blessed for they will be comforted. Help us to walk alongside those who are grieving to lighten their load and help them to not feel alone. Amen.
-Jen McCabe

Read: John 11:1-45

Going through the illness and death of loved ones is one of life’s greatest challenges. Although we know intellectually that all persons eventually die, we somehow expect that we may escape the agony of losing a relative or close friend. However we may prepare, we are hit with inescapable tears and emptiness. When a death happens in your life (and it will, it has not yet), remember that God loves you and will provide all of the tools you need in mourning.

Father, thank you for everything You’ve given me in the relationship with this loved one on earth, and thank you for the greatest gift of all, looking forward to being with them and You in heaven for all eternity.
-Barb Cheyney

Read: John 11:1-45

Like Jesus, I am now well acquainted with grief.

In January, I lost my dearest friend from college, a lovely, vibrant soul who walked beside me for 48 years through all of life’s challenges and joys. The two weeks before she left us were spent in a Boston ICU, “touch and go” as her long-time partner framed it (she had been suffering for the last four years from a debilitating disease). The Thursday before she died, she texted that she was feeling better and on the mend. I wrote back, “You gave us such a scare! Keep sending good news!” On Saturday morning, her body gave out. It was not the text I was expecting when her sister relayed the news. It can’t be, I thought. Not Amy.

It’s now two months later, and I’ve run the gamut of grief. I wrote her obituary at her family’s request. I’ve attended two memorial services, one at the Unitarian Universalist church in her hometown of Rockford, Illinois, and another, a cocktail party “Amy-style” in Boston, where she had lived since college. I’ve been surrounded by her family and mutual friends and enjoyed wonderful fellowship and conversation.

And I’ve cried. Crying comes easily to me as an emotive (I’m using the word as a noun here, not as an adjective). Perhaps it’s because I’m Irish. Or the daughter of an author. A poet and author herself. Perhaps it’s because I see things deeply and feel things even deeper. Or maybe my eyes are just always ready to tear. It really doesn’t matter why. I just do. Cry easily.

When I am mourning, I need time alone. In a garden. By the ocean. Listening to music. Reading poetry. Also appreciated is a loving arm around my shoulders, a touch, a nod, a word.

But how would you know this if I didn’t share it with you?

What do you need when you mourn? Will you tell me so that I can sit with you? Talk with you? Pray with you? Cry with you?

Dear Lord, in our grief, we look to you for your Revelation promise: He will dwell with them, and they shall be His people, and God Himself will be with them; He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning nor crying nor pain anymore, for the former things will have passed away. —Rev. 21:1-4 Until then, help us to help one another as we navigate not only the joys of our lives, but also our sorrows. Amen.
-Ashley Sweeney

Read: John 11:1-45

John 11:19 tells us that, “…many Jews had come to Martha and Mary to comfort them in the loss of their brother.” The community that formed around Martha and Mary to comfort them gives us a suggestion of what we can do for one another as we mourn and handle death together.

Emerson Elementary, where I served as principal for six years, was a community of educators who supported one another and the families of the children we served. When my mother was dying of cancer, the teachers provided an evening meal for Ron, our two teenage sons, and me every night for two months freeing me to spend time with my mother. What an example of support!

“Five Wishes” is a living will document that encourages consideration of the kinds of support you want when you are dying. Wish #4 gives us as a faith community some useful suggestions: Visit me; sit next to me and hold my hand; be cheerful and not sad; pray for me both in person and when we are apart; and play music. In my document, I have requested Taizé chants, especially Nada te Turbe (Nothing Can Trouble).

Ron is a Hospice Volunteer, and one of the options is “respite care” which provides a volunteer to sit with the patient so the primary caregiver can be free to do something else. One grateful husband and wife expressed that they had not been able to go grocery shopping together for over a year.

Dear God, we thank You for giving us a community that allows us to participate in healing and restoring your world. We thank you for giving us options to support one another and words to say when we don’t know what to say. Amen.
-Cathey Frederick

Read: John 11:1-45

What strikes me most from this Gospel, other than the obvious of Jesus raising Lazarus, is the familiarity of the scene that John sets. John makes a point for us to recognize that “… many of the Jews had come to Martha and Mary to console them,” and that “… when the Jews who were with her in the house, counseling her, saw Mary rise quickly and go out, they followed her, supposing that she was going to the tomb to weep there.”

That scene is so familiar to all of us when death arrives in our lives. The people who love us most, and those who also love the deceased, surround us to support us in our grief. There is a ritual in this process that carries through all of time. Can’t you smell the good food that their friends brought to share (maybe even a casserole or two?)? Can’t you hear the gathered friends crying together, telling stories of their friend, sometimes laughing at a funny anecdote, the silence that sometimes falls among them as they ruminate on their own memories? They are all here to grieve together and to wrap Mary and Martha in their love as they are truly suffering the loss of their dear brother.

Two weeks ago, my 23 year old daughter lost a close friend to suicide. Like Mary and Martha, my daughter is in extraordinary pain over this loss. Right now, she finds it difficult to even put one foot in front of the other, but I have been observing how she and her friends are figuring out how to mourn, discerning which rituals they need to get each other through. They have spent hours on social media talking about their friend. Now they are planning a small and intimate memorial for them to get together at a beach and hang out doing crafts together, as crafting was one of their friend’s favorite things to do.

This community of mourners is coming together to grieve, to console, to counsel, and to begin to heal. I imagine there will be tears, laughter, silence, and food. As it should be.

Lord, whether it is my time to mourn or to be with those who mourn, send your loving and healing spirit into everything I say and do. Amen.
-Charlotte Burnham