The origins of Shrove Tuesday, or Pancake Day

The 40-day season of Lent officially begins Ash Wednesday. With our Catholic friends, Anglicans worldwide traditionally ‘celebrate’ this day. But few of us can match our historical counterparts in observing any kind of Lenten fast, which traditionally also begins then.

Such, by the way, is the historical reason for Shrove Tuesday, the term used in many English-speaking countries for the day before. The word shrove, past tense of the old English verb shrive, referred to obtaining absolution for one's sins. In other words, Christians were expected to go to confession in preparation for the penitential season of turning to God.

An early church tradition advised abstention from anything killed, and the produce—like milk and eggs—of those animals. In pre-refrigeration days, that meant a lot of food had to be consumed so it wouldn't go bad during the weeks leading up to Easter. So many families would whip the households’ perishables into pancakes the day before Lent. The day thus became known as ‘Pancake Tuesday’, which in some quarters morphed into Mardi Gras (Fat Tuesday).

For the Church to live and thrive, it must get closer to the risen Christ!

(Based on a recent Anglican Journal article)

“The church has always—Christians, I’m not using ‘church’ as an institution, necessarily—the church has always been strongest the closer it has been to Jesus of Nazareth and his actual teachings and his spirit,” said Bishop Michael Curry recently in an interview with Joelle Kidd of the Anglican Journal. “It has tended to be weakest, frankly, the more aligned it is with the status quo in the actual society.”

The 27th and current presiding bishop of the U.S.-based Episcopal Church, Bishop Curry came to international attention last year when he preached at the wedding of Prince Harry and Meghan Markle. In a wide-ranging discussion with the Journal while attending the meeting of General Synod in Vancouver, he spoke about the health of the church, cross-border church relationships and his post-royal wedding fame.

“If we are about preserving ourselves as an institution, and our institutional structures, then we are at the mercy of the cultural forces around us,” the engaging, animated bishop shared. “If we are about following the risen Christ, this Jesus of Nazareth, and making our witness in the world, then we will figure out how to navigate with maybe less money or fewer people. We will figure out how to navigate if we have more money and more people. That won’t matter. What will matter is the closer we are to this Jesus of Nazareth, and following his actual teachings—not just the idea of it, but his real teachings.”

“ … when our consciousness of being Christian is dependent on our institutional forms, then we’ve missed the point,” he went on. “We’ve substituted the outward form for the inward reality—and it’s the inward reality that endured.

Episcopal Church Presiding Bishop Michael Curry speaks at the church's 79th General Convention in 2018. Photo: Asher Imtiaz /The Living Church

“There’s a collect that prays that we ‘hold fast to things eternal, even as we pass through things temporary.’ That is what we must do.”

And what about his new-found notoriety? Do more people notice and approach him now?

“That does happen,” he admitted. “The nice thing is, it has opened up conversations with people—conversations about real stuff.”

You can read the interview, edited for length, at the Anglican Journal site here.

Barnabas: the bridge-building encourager

[inspired by a recent talk by Fr. Ken]

Barnabas may be the apostle we hear the least about, but without him, the early spread of Christianity would most certainly have been severely curtailed.

Born Joseph of Jewish parents in Cyprus, we’re given the earliest big example of why the apostles nicknamed him Barnabas—an Aramaic expression meaning ‘son of encouragement’ in Acts 4. There we learn that soon after his conversion, he “sold a field that belonged to him, then brought the money and laid it at the apostles’ feet” (Acts 4:36-37).  For the likely hand-to-mouth disciples, this would have been a big deal.

Perhaps most significantly, when Christian-killing Saul—after his Damascus road experience—attempted to join up with the disciples in Jerusalem, Barnabas courageously vouched for him. Some early sources say Joseph and Saul, soon to be Barnabas and Paul, had known each other through having been fellow students of the renowned Jewish teacher Gamaliel. Who knows how long the Jerusalem church, understandably suspicious of their former persecutor, would have otherwise taken to accept the man who would become foremost in the early spread of the Gospel (Acts 9:26-31)?

A short time later, when the leaders of the church in Jerusalem became concerned at the news that even Gentiles were accepting Christ as their saviour in the northern city of Antioch, they sent Barnabas to investigate. It seems that since he had gotten it so right with Paul, they trusted his judgement. His visit there being so illustrative of who he was and how important to the growth of the church, it’s worth quoting the whole story from Acts.

“When he came and saw the grace of God, he rejoiced, and he exhorted them all to remain faithful to the Lord with steadfast devotion; for he was a good man, full of the Holy Spirit and of faith. And a great many people were brought to the Lord. Then Barnabas went to Tarsus to look for Saul, and when he had found him, he brought him to Antioch. So it was that for an entire year they met with the church and taught a great many people, and it was in Antioch that the disciples were first called ‘Christians’. "
—Acts 11: 23-26

Barnabas then, along with Paul, helped to smooth out Jew/Gentile tensions that arose in the early church and both took part in the Council of Jerusalem, called to specifically address these issues.

Like everyone who works together, whether in ministry or not, disagreements arose. Yet Barnabas seemed to always, with God’s help, manage to turn the situations around.

At one point he and Paul disagree over the propriety of taking Mark along on a missionary journey, stalwart Paul being against it because Mark had abandoned them on a previous trip. Barnabas the bridge-builder preferred to give him another chance. Unbending Paul refused, selecting Silas as his new mission partner.

Humanly speaking the unresolved contention seemed to cause an unfortunate split in the early church. Yet like cells dividing in an organism to build a body, God used that very split to create two missions out of one and accelerate the growth of His church. Barnabas headed out with Mark to Cyprus, and Paul brought in Silas to help with his own missions through Syria and Cilicia. As Ken suggested, we might not even have the Gospel of Mark were it not for the conciliatory efforts of St. Barnabas.

While all are not called out on far-ranging mission trips or to be leaders, surely, in our broken world, we need to answer the call to be encouragers, bridge-builders and peace-promoters.

Being in Christ ... and His being in us

“And now we begin to see what it is that the New Testament is always talking about. It talks about Christians ‘being born again’; it talks about them ‘putting on Christ’; about Christ ‘being formed in us’; about our coming to ‘have the mind of Christ’.

“Put right out of your head the idea that these are only fancy ways of saying that Christians are to read what Christ said and try to carry it out—as a man may read what Plato or Marx said and try to carry it out. They mean something much more than that. They mean that a real Person, Christ, here and now, in that very room where you are saying your prayers, is doing things to you. It is not a question of a good man who died two thousand years ago. It is a living Man, still as much a man as you, and still as much God as He was when He created the world, really coming and interfering with your very self; killing the old natural self in you and replacing it with the kind of self He has. At first, only for moments. Then for longer periods. Finally, if all goes well, turning you permanently into a different sort of thing; into a new little Christ, a being which, in its own small way, has the same kind of life as God; which shares in His power, joy, knowledge and eternity.”

—From Mere Christianity by C.S. Lewis

I killed Jesus

“‘They’  (that collective, scholarly, holy group of people) say that when you read the Bible you should place yourself in the story,” young American writer Christina Mead explains as an introduction to her article below. 

Deciding to try the exercise while reading through the Easter events in Matthew, she asked  herself throughout:  “Which character am I? What is God trying to teach me?” Her insightful reflection and dramatic conclusions will, we believe, both inspire and give you pause to ponder your own walk with our Lord. 

I killed Jesus
by Christina Mead

I am an apostle, sleeping in the Garden of Gethsemane (Matt. 26:40). I’m prone to and give in to laziness in the presence of holiness. I don’t put up a fight against the pull of distractions; sometimes I even sleep.

I am Judas. Jesus has every right to call me both 'friend' and 'betrayer' barely thirty seconds apart (Matt. 26:46, 50). My heart is fickle and weak and sometimes my commitment to being Jesus’ friend is blown off on the whim of an emotion.

I am Caiaphas, the high priest. I want Jesus to prove Himself to me (Matt. 26:63). I want signs and wonders to know that I really can trust Him. I want my prayers answered in my way. I want concrete proof over humble faith.

I am Peter. Sometimes I deny Jesus (Matt. 26:72). I deny Him in the face of the homeless when I chose to look away. I deny Him when I am afraid of being judged and condemned by those around me.

I am in the crowd yelling: “Crucify Him!” (Matt. 27:21-23)  And I say it again and again every time I knowingly choose to sin.

I am Barabbas. I am chained in sin and holed up in the prison of my own pride. And instead of suffering the full punishment for my sins for which I am guilty, Christ takes my place (Matt. 27:26). And I often forget to thank Him.

I am Pilate. I want to give up when life is too challenging (Matt. 27:24). I’m ready to wash my hands of Christianity when being a follower of Jesus means pursuing virtue over mediocrity, a life of prayer over a life of pleasure.

I am Simon of Cyrene (Matt. 27:32). I suffer reluctantly. I will take the cross but I won’t seek it. I’ll only take it if it’s been placed on my shoulders … and I don’t love it.

I am a passer-by. These passers-by mocked Jesus while He was hanging on the cross (Matt. 27:30). How quickly they had forgotten all the good works He had done among their cities and towns. When popular opinion about Jesus changed, they followed suit. How quickly I forget the good He has done for me. In a brief moment of pain, all my gratitude is forgotten and replaced by resentment.

I am one of the Roman soldiers (Matt. 27:35). I killed Jesus. My sins were the reason He was nailed to that cross. It was my fault and I know it.

But sometimes …

I am the centurion. My eyes are opened to who Jesus is in my life (Matt. 27:54). My heart swells with the truth that God became man and died for me. And this knowledge brings me peace and a resignation to amend my life.

I am one of the women standing by the cross (Matt. 27:55-56). When I’m open to God’s grace, I can be a faithful and constant Christian. In the midst of pain and suffering, I can stay close to the cross. Jesus, my beloved, is my strength and He’s all I need.

I am Joseph of Arimathea (Matt. 27:59). Again, only by God’s grace, I can be selflessly compassionate, putting others’ needs before my own. Moved by God, I will use what He has given me in the service of others. My time, talent, and treasure are all for Him.

I am every character in the story of the passion and death of Christ. And I think that’s the whole point. Why wouldn’t every dimension of the human heart be represented in the greatest story of all time? It only makes sense because the story is timeless. We have to apply it to our lives today because the reality of its events matter today.

This isn’t just a story in some history book. It’s the story of your salvation: how God saw the good and the bad in our humanity and He came anyway. He died anyway.

I killed Jesus. But I am also the reason He rose from the dead.

____________________
You can read Christina Mead’s whole piece here.

When Life burst out of death: how the Big Bang echoes Easter

“Whatever happened here on an early morning very long ago unleashed from the unlikeliest of sources—a stiff corpse—an explosion of otherworldly power that today is still expanding (like the universe itself) and sweeping up souls in a wake of light.” [Ryan Gregg]

Did you know that a Belgian Catholic priest first proposed what we now call the Big Bang Theory back in 1927? Most scientists of his day outright rejected Georges Lemaître’s ‘cosmic egg’ proposal. How dare this upstart priest (who in fact was also an astronomer, physicist and mathematician) try to smuggle a biblical view into science!

The Vatican however, as Ryan Gregg writes in Christianity Today, “was so thrilled by Lemaître’s theory and its progressive verification in the scientific community that Lemaître himself had to contact the Vatican to plead that it desist from making scientific proclamations, a domain beyond its magisterium. The Vatican complied, and the attitude of global Christendom toward the Big Bang has been largely ambivalent ever since.”

If Harvard University PhD candidate Gregg keeps up his brilliant thinking and sharing, surely many more skeptical Christians will be converted to this beautiful Creation  story as being ‘merely’ a reflection of  Christ’s work on the Cross of Calvary.

You can read the entire article here: When Life burst out of Death

The wondrously prophetic line of Adam and Eve's third son, Seth

By the Rev. Ken McClure

After the fall of peace and the rise of the empire of Cain, a new hope is kindled when Adam and Eve come together and have a third son, Seth.

Chapter 5 of Genesis offers us an account of the line of Seth that parallels the one offered for his brother, but the development we see in it is not in contributions to civilization as with Seth's descendants, but by the connection to God that they establish and maintain. They do not assume the role of shepherd left vacant by the slaughter of Abel, but are instead marked by moments of interaction with God among their heritage: Seth's line offers us a prophetic line to parallel the ruling line of Cain.  

By the fifth generation, this divine connection is so deep that Enoch is said to have "walked with God" (Gen. 5:22). The traditions that this simple reference inspired in the ancient Jewish creative mind offer numerous treatments of what came to be regarded as Enoch's ascension, and his travels through the heavenly realms.

While the details of the different treatments vary, depending on the creative ability of the author, the unifying feature of each of the different books attributed to Enoch is the reception of secret knowledge from God. Because of this, Enoch comes to be regarded as the prototype for the prophets generally, and he is specifically associated with Elijah, and even Jesus. While the fancy of these extra-canonical texts is engaging and their speculations captivating, the text of Genesis provides us with a simple statement that encapsulates everything every other text goes to great lengths to say: Enoch walked with God.  

Enoch marks the height of the relationship between God and the children of Seth, in the same way that the patriarch of the fifth generation of the children of Cain, Lamech, marks the depths of that line's descent into depravity.

The line of Seth is fulfilled in its ninth generation when Noah answers the call of God to shepherd Creation through the storm to come. We see at last the role of prophet joined with the task of shepherd, the work of fallen Abel assumed by Seth, the brother he never knew. 

When we examine the line of Seth, our attention is primarily focused on its two greatest individuals, Enoch and Noah, but each link within the chain should be regarded as bearing the hope of the progenitor—if for no other reason than that the invocation of the name of God among mortals is connected to the foundation of their line (Gen. 4:26).

If we take this to be the case, then what we see in Genesis 5 is the prototype for the way that God will interact with the later Israel. A single family line follows a path of God in the world outside the Garden, and from that line emerges the prophets who will act as divine emissaries to their place and time.

The genealogies in chapters 4 and 5 of Genesis bear resemblance to the Kings lists of the ancient Sumerian cities, where we see seven kings from five cities ruling the land in the period before the flood, an event which is referred to in the lists.

Like the various descendants of Cain and Seth, these kings had exceptionally long reigns—far longer in fact than the longevity described in Genesis (the longest reign listed is 36,000 years). What I find interesting about these lists is the values they emphasize.

The connection to the pre-flood past made by the people of the Sumerian cities is through kingship, the power that unifies them within their cities. Their continuity is found through the line of kings that ruled them, while the biblical continuity is found through a line of prophets. The biblical story may recognize a city-building line of the world, but its focus is on the people/tribe/family who invoked God, who walked with God, who answered the call of God.