WHAT LANGUAGE SHALL I BORROW TO THANK THEE DEAREST FRIEND?

Dear Friends,

As Christians are about to begin the most solemn time of the year, Holy Week, I thought I would post something appropriate. My apology to church members since this article appears in the April Newsletter, although without the pictures. My regular blog will resume Saturday, April 14.

O darkest woe!
Ye tears forth flow!
Has earth so sad a wonder?
God the Father's only Son
Now lies buried yonder.

For years as an adolescent and young adult I attended the three hour Good Friday Service run by the Lutheran Church-Missouri Synod at the Palmer House hotel in downtown Chicago. It would be hard for me to underestimate the impact that ritual had in me. The texts were the seven last words of Christ from the Cross. I remember none of the sermons, but I do remember the hymns, the wonderfully moving passion hymns. Hymn after hymn was sung focusing our attention of the sacrifice of our Lord as words alone never could.

Who was the guilty?
Who brought this upon thee?
Alas my treason,
Jesus hath undone thee.
‘Twas I Lord Jesus,
I it was denied thee.
I crucified thee.

I suppose people would declare these are just too gloomy. At a time when even the church is filled with happy talk, there is an abhorrence on anything that pricks the conscience or dampens the spirit. But the crucifixion was terrible, bloody, and awful. All of Jesus' teachings are pointless if we don't see that he was headed to the cross. For my sake he died. For my sake.

In perfect love he dies;
For me he dies, for me!
O all-atoning Sacrifice,
I cling by faith to thee.

Attendance at Good Friday Services are always rather poor nowadays, a tiny fraction of those who will attend the Easter Services a few days later. But who can understand the glories of the resurrection who has not first understood the grief of the crucifixion. As Luther insisted, we must have a theology of the Cross and not a theology of glory.



What language shall I borrow
To thank thee, dearest friend,
For this thy dying sorrow,
Thy pity without end?
O make me thine forever,
And should I fainting be,
Lord, let me never, never
Outlive my love to thee.

I heard the Baptist minister Tony Campolo talking about a sort of preaching contest he got into with an elderly African-American preacher. Campolo gave it his best, and the old preacher said, "Pretty good, young man, but I'm going to beat you with only seven words." And so the preacher did. The word's? "Today is Saturday, but tomorrow is Sunday."



Awake my heart, with gladness,
See what today is done;
Now after gloom and sadness,
Comes forth the glorious sun.
My Savior there was laid
Where our bed must be made
When, as on wings in flight,
We soar to realms of light.

Sunday will come. The terrors of Friday and the grief of Saturdayn gone, and we are lifted to new realms of joy.

Tis the spring of souls today:
Christ has burst his prison,
And from three days sleep in death
As a sun has risen.
All the winter of our sins.
Long and dark, is flying,
From the light to whom we give
Laud and praise undying.

It's not just all the people, it's not just the lilies, it's not even the hymns with all their joy. It is the truth that sets us free: Christ who was dead is alive. We who were dead are alive. All who fasted on the bitter tears of sin, have been welcomed to the great heavenly banquet.



At the lambs high feast we sing.
Praise to our victorious king.
Who has washed us in the tide
Flowing from his wounded side.
Praise we Christ whose love divine
Gives his sacred blood for wine;
Gives his body for the feast,
Christ the victim Christ the priest. Alleluia.

Christ has died!
Christ has risen!
Christ will come again!

Amen and amen.

May the Lord bless you on your way and greet you on your arival.

Wayne