Happy Resurrection Day!

But in fact Christ has been raised from the dead, the firstfruits of those who have fallen asleep.

A jolly Easter to you all. Amidst bunnies and egg hunts, I hope you can find time to go over to your local church and celebrate our Savior’s triumph over sin and death. Those of you in Washington, DC, I invite you to First Baptist DC on 16th Street NW (corner 16th and O St) for a joyous morning worship service at 11am. We’ll have a brass ensemble and timpanis accompanying the organ and choir, and you’ll get to see me, in robes, singing along in the bass section. There’ll be Hallelujah Chorus from Handel’s Messiah; what could be better?

Waiting for the Dawn

So they went and made the tomb secure by sealing the stone and setting a guard.

On the Sabbath they rested according to the commandment.

The gospels scantly narrate the events of Black Saturday with the knowledge and joy of the resurrection as a foregone conclusion; but today I tried to imagine what that Sabbath day must have been like for the apostles, who had yet no idea that Jesus would rise. Simon Peter would have been wallowing in despair at vehemently denying his friend and master. John the son of Zebedee would have been consoling Jesus’ mother Mary in her grief. Mark might have been looking for a new garment to replace the one he lost in Gethsemane.

I’m sure all of them were overwhelmed with sadness, disappointment, and doubt. The man, the cause, for which they had left everything and laid down their lives, had been bloodily flogged, humiliatingly executed, and hurriedly buried, and they, despite their protestations of solidarity, had been the first to abandon him. There had been no sudden burst of heavenly power, no Military Messiah destroying the temple and driving out the Romans and seizing the throne of power. There had not even been a bold proclamation of defiance from the cross, but just a few tortured, all-too-mortal words: “I thirst.” Now they had nothing, not even a bold last memory of their beloved rabbi.

This was absolute rock-bottom.

The sun set, and the Sabbath ended, and they slept. Some were still in grief, perhaps others were beginning to plan for what would come next. I wonder what went through their heads: a return to fishing, perhaps? Stay in Jerusalem and continue Yeshua’s teachings, even on pain of torture and death? Maybe, just maybe, the more daring ones — maybe those fiery sons of Zebedee — contemplated the possibility of sneaking past the Roman guards and stealing the body? But we know they didn’t try. Some, by then, must have been resigned to the idea that life would be Christless from then on.

Have you been there? Has God just not come through for you, whether in your circumstances or in the people around you? Perhaps His long silence makes the idea of resigning to a Christless, Godless life all the more appealing. But wait. Be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord. He rolls the stone away even while it is “still dark,” and gives the night as well as the morning. Stand fast, and wait for the dawn.

Oh, Maundy

Yesterday was Maundy Thursday, commemorating the night of the Last Supper.

“Maundy” is derived from the Latin “mandatum novum” — “new commandment” — via the French “mande” (from which we get words like “mandate” and “command”), referring to Jesus’ new commandment to his disciples: “Love one another, as I have loved you.”

After work last night, I stood at Dupont Circle, the north Metro entrance on my left and Massachussets Ave leading to church on my right, and I wondered if I should go to the special Maundy Thursday worship service.

I’m tired and sleepy and listless and cranky and I really don’t feel much like going to church, I thought to myself. Which, I responded to myself, is all the more reason I should go.

So I went, and I did not regret it. There was a fellowship dinner, followed by a communion service. Weeks of on-and-off lethargy, worldly worry, and spiritual neglect faded before the simple, familiar words: “This is my body, broken for you. This cup is the new covenant in my blood. Do this, as often as you drink it, in remembrance of me.”

Ah, that God loves us, despite our doubt, our warring desires; that he still gave his body and spilled his blood though we would fail him in body and spirit again and again; that he willingly went to the cross even for those who would mock him in word and deed through the centuries. Only God could give us such love, to make us, who behave so unworthily, worthy in his sight. And if he then commands us — gives us that mandatum novum — to love others with that same unconditional, sacrificial love he gave us, we know he makes able those who obey.

Lord, make us able.

Monday Out on the Mall

After lunch with OKCalvin yesterday, Amy and I sauntered over to the US Botanic Garden for a bit to look at flowers, cacti, and ferns. We also viewed Russian paintings at the Smithsonian International Gallery, checked out Cai Guo-Qiang’s Traveler (see below), and stopped for mocha at the Castle before Amy had to head back home to NJ. ‘Twas a great day for it all.

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Here’s us at the Botanic Garden, resting in the shade of a banana tree.

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The Castle, seen from the Sackler Gallery ground floor level.

(My cheeks are getting fat, aren’t they?)

Awash in a Porcelain Flood

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At the Sackler Gallery, Cai Guo-Qiang’s “Traveler” sits: the weathered wooden frame of an old Japanese boat, flooded with broken shards of porcelain plates and statues of the Buddhist goddess Guanyin. It’s a fascinating exhibit: the sheer quantity of shattered porcelain flows over the decayed timber like sea foam, speaking to the viewer of a spirit broken and a faith lost to time. Or something.

Lunch with OKCalvin

Today was a real treat, as I took today off from work so Amy and I could meet up with OKCalvin and his family for lunch at Air and Space. The DC spring-break-and-field-trip crowd was fairly thick, but we managed to get a seat, and over gyros and hot dogs we talked about theology, aeronautics, pastoring, families, the rolling prairies of Oklahoma, other bloggers, and Soviet moon suits.

Here’s us with aforementioned Soviet moon suit:

Da Vinci Code Roundup

It’s come to my attention that the Vatican has finally gotten down to saying something about The Da Vinci Code. Somewhat late and needless, I think, considering that the issue is already in the process of being beaten to death.

The most frequent defense of Da Vinci Code I’ve seen is that “it’s just a work of fiction,” therefore its various slams against church and art history aren’t meant to be taken seriously. The gist of the problem, however, is that Dan Brown starts with sensationalized fantasies and known hoaxes advocated by a minority of historical revisionists. He then casually attempts to pass off these fringe conspiracy theories and hoaxes as the “factual” foundation upon which his story rests. Dan Brown still insists that Da Vinci Code merely attempts to put forward these revisionist histories as a kind of “open mind” exercise, but if that’s so, then the fact that parts of the book still come off as more of an anti-Catholic propaganda hack piece is testament to the fact that he’s simply a bad writer.

More links on the matter:

I hear that a cinematization of “The Da Vinci Code” is in the works. I predict it will have as much impact on Christianity as did The Seventh Sign, Dogma, Stigmata, and Saved, i.e. a few more people quoting the “Lost Gospel of Thomas” (snarfle) and trying to pass off their entertainment-induced religious “education” as being of more worth than an authentic canon and centuries of tradition and literature. The hype will last a couple of years at most, at which point the self-obsolescent nature of pop culture will kick in and cause these pretensions to spirituality to fade into obscurity — till the next big anti-church book or movie comes along. Just goes to show that the gates of hell still haven’t prevailed.

I Know That Heart of Yours Will Come to See That You Barong With Me

Kudos to kababayan Accordion Guy on his commitment to the barong for his much anticipated hitch-up. The barong is also my outfit of choice for classy coat-and-tie events; there’s no formalwear quite like it: cool, breathable, easy to wear, without any complicated knots or color schemes to worry about. As an added bonus, the people around you can rest assured that you carry no concealed weapons on your person.

See Joey’s entry for links on the traditional Filipino barong, plus pictures of him wearing it. And here’s a photo of me in my barong, among lifelong buddies at Martin’s wedding in 2002:

Me in barong among friends in suits

Also previously mentioned here. It’s pronounced “buh-WRONG.”