A Day on Which Absolutely Nothing Happened*



Wounded Bird does an otherwise excellent post on the Royal Wedding today, saving me the trouble (what is it about weddings? I swore I wouldn't even get up for it, and yet...). But then WB misses entirely the Wedding Sermon, which I thought was not only the best wedding sermon I'd ever heard, but one of the best sermons I had ever heard. I mean, when you can work Catherine(!) of Siena and Chaucer into a wedding sermon, well...that's someone I can learn from! So, in order to repair the error made by WB's sin of omission:
LONDON: Bishop of London's Sermon at the Royal Wedding of William and Kate

April 29, 2011

"Be who God meant you to be and you will set the world on fire."

So said St Catherine of Siena whose festival day this is. Marriage is intended to be a way in which man and woman help each other to become what God meant each one to be, their deepest and truest selves.

Many are full of fear for the future of today's world but the message of the celebrations in this country and far beyond its shores is the right one - this is a joyful day. It is good that people in every continent are able to share in the celebrations because this is, as every wedding day should be, a day of hope.

In a sense every wedding is a royal wedding with the bride and groom as king and queen of creation, making a new life together so that life can flow through them to the future.

William and Catherine, you have chosen to be married in the sight of a generous God who so loved the world that he gave himself to us in the person of Jesus Christ.

In the Spirit of this generous God, husband and wife are to give themselves to one another.

Spiritual life grows as love finds its centre beyond ourselves. Faithful and committed relationships offer a door into the mystery of spiritual life in which we discover that the more we give of self, the richer we become in soul; the more we go beyond ourselves in love, the more we become our true selves and our spiritual beauty is more fully revealed. In marriage we are seeking to bring one another into fuller life.

It is of course hard to wean ourselves away from self-centredness. People can dream of such a thing but the hope will not be fulfilled without a solemn decision that, whatever the difficulties, we are committed to the way of generous love.

You have both made your decision today - "I will" - and by making this new relationship, you have aligned yourselves with what we believe is the way in which life is spiritually evolving, and which will lead to a creative future for the human race.

We stand looking forward to a century which is full of promise and full of peril. Human beings are confronting the question of how to use wisely the power which has been given to us through the discoveries of the last century. We shall not be converted to the promise of the future by more knowledge, but rather by an increase of loving wisdom and reverence, for life, for the earth and for one another.

Marriage should transform, as husband and wife make one another their work of art. This transformation is possible as long as we do not harbour ambitions to reform our partner. There must be no coercion if the Spirit is to flow; each must give the other space and freedom. Chaucer, the London poet, sums it up in a pithy phrase:

"Whan maistrie [mastery] comth, the God of Love anon, Beteth his wynges, and farewell, he is gon." As the reality of God has faded from so many lives in the West, there has been a corresponding inflation of expectations that personal relations alone will supply meaning and happiness in life. This is to load our partner with too great a burden. We are all incomplete: we all need the love which is secure, rather than oppressive, and mutual forgiveness, to thrive.

As we move towards our partner in love, following the example of Jesus Christ, the Holy Spirit is quickened within us and can increasingly fill our lives with light. This leads to a family life which offers the best conditions in which the next generation can practise and exchange those gifts which can overcome fear and division and incubate the coming world of the Spirit, whose fruits are love and joy and peace.

I pray that every one present and the many millions watching this ceremony and sharing in your joy today will do everything in their power to support and uphold you in your new life. I pray that God will bless you in the way of life you have chosen, a way which is expressed in the prayer that you have written together in preparation for this day:

God our Father, we thank you for our families; for the love that we share and for the joy of our marriage. In the busyness of each day keep our eyes fixed on what is real and important in life and help us to be generous with our time and love and energy. Strengthened by our union help us to serve and comfort those who suffer. We ask this in the Spirit of Jesus Christ.

Amen.

---The Rt. Rev. Richard Chartres is the Bishop of London


*It's a very inside joke. Don't try to make sense of it; you can't.

How Not to Take a Christian to Court

A new lawsuit involving the parish of St. Francis on the Hill in El Paso, Texas was filed on Tuesday, April 26 in the local district court (34th Judicial District). The suit marks another low point in the desultory annals of litigation brought by dioceses of the Episcopal Church (USA) against their former parishes, vestries and rectors. Coming literally on the heels of a final judgment entered in that same court on March 11, which awarded all of the Anglican parish's real and personal property to the Diocese of Rio Grande, the new lawsuit was filed even though that prior judgment has since been appealed to the Eighth Court of Appeals in El Paso.

(The prior proceedings in this tangled lawsuit were well described by the Rev. George Conger in this article. Note that in the new lawsuit, the roles are reversed: the former plaintiffs are the new defendants, and vice versa.)

What is particularly despicable about this latest lawsuit is not just that it seeks to embroil the parties who are appealing the trial court's judgment in brand-new litigation pending that appeal, but it also seeks punitive damages (in addition to other relief) against them. The complaint asks for
exemplary damages in an amount up to the greater of the following: (a) $200,000; or (b) two times the amount of economic damages plus the amount of non-economic damages that do not exceed $750,000
from each of the defendants: the parish of St. Francis itself (a Texas non-profit corporation), its rector, Dr. Felix Orji (recently elected a bishop in CANA), and the three individual trustees of a related non-profit corporation, called the "Foundation for Los Robles Church."

And just what is this egregious conduct that is the occasion for an award of punitive damages? Why those named defendants, you see, had the temerity to continue to operate as a church during the earlier pending lawsuit, and in doing so they collected money, transfered it to various accounts, and otherwise made the money and property no longer available for turnover now to the plaintiffs in accordance with the terms of the March 11 judgment -- which is being appealed.

The very idea!

Perhaps the pleader has even more dastardly conduct in mind, but if so, he does not spell it out. Here are his so-called "factual allegations", taken word-for-word from the new complaint:
17. Some of the Property [ordered to be transferred by the March 2011 judgment] was transferred by St. Francis to Los Robles in the past. Upon information and belief, Los Robles was formed by the Individual Defendants and others associated with St. Francis.

18. Some of the Property has been otherwise dissipated, diverted or expended by St. Francis and the Individual Defendants in ways contrary to applicable canon and other laws, and in contravention of the rights and interest of Plaintiffs.

19. Despite demand, Defendants have refused to return the Property to Plaintiffs. In addition, monies made payable to St. Francis in October 28, 2008 have been diverted and transferred by St. Francis and the Individual Defendants to Los Robles in contravention of rights of Plaintiffs.
And that's it -- that is it. The complaint never gets any more "factual" than that. The rest of its ten-page length, and its 54 repetitive paragraphs, are used for legal boilerplate that charges the parish of St. Francis, its rector, and the Los Robles Foundation trustees with every tort or other actionable claim a first-year law student might be able to think of: (1) conversion; (2) "money had and received"; (3) fraudulent transfers for inadequate value, resulting in St. Francis' "insolvency"; (4) breach of "fiduciary duty" (never mind that the plaintiffs in a law suit are generally not in any kind of fiduciary relationship with the defendants while the lawsuit is going on); (5) breach of the "duty of good faith and fair dealing" (such a duty can arise only out of a contract between two parties, and there was no "contract" between these plaintiffs and these defendants); (6) constructive fraud (i.e., not real fraud, but again arising out of a [nonexistent] "duty"); (7) civil conspiracy (which in California, at least, is not even a separate cause of action, but only a theory of joint liability); and (8) constructive trust (i.e., St. Francis and its rector -- a non-profit entity and its leader -- have somehow unjustly been "enriched" at the plaintiffs' expense).

While such theories of liability are all covered in the first year of most law schools, the case is rare in the extreme in which all of them can be said to apply to the facts at one and the same time. (In nearly forty years of practice, for example, I have never encountered one.) Parties are entitled to plead alternative theories when they are uncertain as to the one on which they believe they might prevail ("The defendant stole the plaintiff's watch, or picked it up where it had dropped in the street, and walked off with it"), but the latest El Paso complaint, with its puffed-up allegations of first-year torts and "civil conspiracy", ought to serve as an example in law schools of how not to put such first-year knowledge to use.

It would be more humorous if it were not so serious, however. Real, hard-earned money is going to have to be devoted to defending against this nonsense. And I note from the complaint that the new Bishop of Rio Grande, the Rt. Rev. Dr. Michael L. Vono, does not even allow his name to appear in the pleading (he is right to be ashamed to do so, if he is in fact so ashamed): throughout the pleading, he is described solely by his title, as in this paragraph:
4. The Bishop of the Diocese of the Rio Grande is a natural person residing in Albuquerque, New Mexico. The Bishop is the ecclesiastical authority of the Diocese.
Something has come seriously unhinged in the Diocese of Rio Grande, and I hope it has nothing to do with the arrival of a new sheriff in town. In researching this article, I came across this story about the earlier lawsuit, while it was pending in 2010:
Two years ago, the parish of St. Francis voted to leave the Episcopal Church, but said it intended to remain right where it was — on the hill overlooking El Paso’s Westside. The parish also changed its name, from St. Francis Episcopal Church to St. Francis Anglican.

And to head off efforts by the denomination to evict them, members took the unusual step of suing the national church and the regional diocese, the Diocese of the Rio Grande, based in Albuquerque, N.M.

Since then St. Francis and the Episcopal Church have been battling it out in the 210th Judicial Court before Judge Gonzalo Garcia.

On Feb. 10, St. Francis Church lost the first round in its legal fight to stay in the church complex on Los Robles Drive when Garcia ruled in favor of the Episcopal denomination and the Rio Grande Diocese.

But St. Francis is in no immediate danger of eviction. The two sides are working out an agreement that would let the St. Francis parish remain in the church property, at least until the conclusion of an appeal to the Texas 8th Circuit Court of Appeals in El Paso.

“We are certainly not going to tell them to move out,” said Canon Colin Kelly, who serves as the president of the Standing Committee of the diocese. The diocese is searching for a new bishop, and the committee makes administrative decisions in the meantime. The diocese expects to elect a new bishop April 24 at a gathering at the cathedral in Albuquerque, N.M.

“At some point we will want to have occupancy, but we are sensitive to their feelings and thoughts,” Kelly said.
"Sensitive to their feelings and thoughts"? Does suing individuals for hundreds of thousands of dollars in punitive damages constitute being "sensitive to them"? It does not -- not in the sense in which most people understand that word. So what happened between early 2010 and early 2011? After all, the Rev. Canon Dr. Colin Kelly is still on the diocesan Standing Committee.

Christians fighting Christians in the secular courts -- I have to say -- set perhaps the worst contemporary example of their faith for the secular culture in which we live. It is bad enough that the bulk of those Christians fighting in the courts today call themselves -- or used to call themselves -- Episcopalians. But when Episcopalians go after the garden-variety, day-to-day acts of practicing the faith by operating a church and paying its bills, and try to make those the equivalent of Bernie Madoff's fraud and deception, we have hit a new low. The Dennis Canon, and the Church which spawned it, are now engaged in what I would call a Satanic embrace.

Whether Episcopal or Anglican, please pray for your Church. At this rate, it may only get worse before it gets better.




The Letter Killeth...

I have a few thoughts about the symposium issue of the Anglican Theological Review dedicated to Same Sex Relationships and the Nature of Marriage: A Theological Colloquy. The debate is quite interesting in its own right, and I recommend a reading of all of the various papers for a nuanced view of the scope of the disagreement. But I'm not here to recap it, but to riff off a few themes in the main conservative paper "Same Sex Marriage and Anglican Theology: A View From Traditionalists," by John E. Goldingay, Grant R. LeMarquand, George R. Sumner & Daniel A. Westberg. I feel a little bit guilty riffing off the themes that struck me in the paper, in that the Task Force appointed by the Theology Committee of the House of Bishops strove mightily on both sides to express their views in the most charitable way possible, and some of the things I have to say about this paper will not read as altogether charitable. Still, I can't help but feel that a lay reaction to this paper may interest some readers.

First, and foremost, I can't help but note that the paper reaches its viewpoint in a very abstract manner, proceeding from hermeneutics, to scriptural analysis, to science and natural law, and then to natural law and marriage. Now, this isn't a bad approach to certain legal problems--the interpretation of a constitutional text, for instance--but it seems awfully bloodless as an approach to theology. The most passionate, and eloquent, passage in the paper addresses hermeneutics:
we are trying to achieve an objective understanding of this text according to its own presuppositions and concerns. There is an analogy here in the process of gaining an objective understanding of other persons whom we love. Because of our commitment to them, we want to know them in reality, and not just make them a projection of our own interests. We commit ourselves to understanding them in their distinctiveness, even where we may find them difficult or objectionable. Often we find when we do that, what seemed objectionable, becomes, if not likable, at least understandable. We may then be able to learn from who they are--which does not happen either if we reject them or if we assimilate them too quickly to what we understand and accept.
(14)

Pretty good, hey? To quote the great Mark Twain, Sir, it is pie. But, what's interesting about the paper is that it doesn't apply this standard to the people most affected by the doctrine it defends: our GLBT brothers and sisters. There is no effort to engage with the experiences, the pain, the lives of those at the center at the debate. Now, I'm a great believer in intellectual rigor. But when it runs away from the Holy Spirit, and the experiences of those impacted by its sweeping analysis, it becomes scholasticism--a closed system, which may or may not connect with reality at a given point.

Here's another question about hermeneutics: The paper stresses the importance of fidelity to Scripture--not in a fundamentalist way, but to the whole tenor of Scripture, a general viewpoint with which I agree--and finds in the few pieces of Scripture that touch upon homosexuality (in some way) and marriage a point of contact with natural law theory. But the paper acknowledges the prospect that there are "moral issues where subsequent reflection and experience led to genuine change in the church's teaching." (20). The paper gives three examples, two of which are non-controversial, and the third which is--interesting:chattel slavery, the subordination of women, and the prohibition of usury. (Id). Wait a second. What about the prohibition of usury? Ah:
The prohibition of usury, for example, was held for centuries, and came to be seriously questioned both on the adequacy of the interpretation of the few scriptural texts that were thought relevant, and of the philosophical understanding provided by Aristotle of the nature of money.. In that case, the evidence to decide the issue comes from reason and Scripture and not from tradition. In other words, the challenge to change the canon law on usury could not be answered simply by appealing to the many centuries when the prohibition was accepted.
(11).

At the risk of seeming pedantic, my copy of Aristotle's Politics at I x describes usury as unnatural, stating further that "The most hated sort [of wealth-getting], and with the greatest reason, is usury, which makes a gain out of money itself, and not from the natural object of it. For money was intended to be used in exchange, but not to increase at interest. And this term interest, which means the birth of money from money, is applied to the breeding of money because the offspring resembles the parent. Wherefore of all modes of getting wealth this is the most unnatural." (That's Jowett's translation. The same text is less colorfully but consistently translated at p. 87 of the Penguin translation by TA Sinclair and & Trevor J. Saunders (1981)).

I don't see how Aristotle helps undermine the canon law here. (Fairness requires me to point out, though, that in the Nicomachean Ethics, Aristotle's theory of equality of exchange does suggest that individual transactions are not the ideal context of ensuring equality; medieval thinkers used this passage to moderate the canon law on usury, but the more specific passage in the Politics seems to me to make this much less obvious than the paper assumes). How about Scripture? A quick review of the texts quoted by Jeremiah O'Callaghan in his 1825 tract Usury, or Interest at 5-8 yields 18 separate prohibitions and condemnations of usury from the Gospels (Matthew and Luke) to St Paul and the Revelation, and a series from the Old Testament from Leviticus to Ezekiel, as well as the Psalms. And let's not forget the earliest Christians' practical common possession of all assets (Acts 4:32). If this is a "few" scriptural texts, the verses regarding homosexuality--the paper itself cites a total of five directly relating to same-sex relationships (at 26-28)--are dramatically fewer in number.

The paper contends that the prohibitions of same-sex relationships (the paper's characterization, not my own) gain in coherence because of their consistency and harmony with the texts relating to marriage, and natural law. But surely Jesus's concern for the poor, and distrust of the power of riches--fuels the prohibition of usury? It is itself a major theme of both Old and New Testaments. And, one might add, quite defensible today, in our post-crash world, as argued by Brian McCall in a recent article in the Cardozo Law Review. (McCall's article draws on Aristotle, Jewish and Roman law as well as the canon law tradition, and--wait for it--natural law).

So why am I brow-beating the paper and its authors on an ill-chosen example of "acceptable" moral development in this context? Because the paper's hermeneutic is inconsistently applied--for the change which is more comfortable to a modern conservative--the devaluation of Jesus's teachings with regard to money, and the prohibition of usury before and after His life, a significant number of specific passages which fit with the overarching themes of Scripture can be dismissed. For a change that is uncomfortable to them, a few snippets linked rather tendentiously to marriage must be honored. It's interpretation in support of what is most comfortable to the interpreter.

Which brings me back to where I began. The paper's most eloquent passage calls for knowing the other and understanding that other where he or she is. That isn't limited to Scriptural interpretation. With greater knowledge, comes less discomfort and more empathy. And possibly with understanding would come a theology that does more than lay burdens on others, while casually relegating pastoral care to a single sentence bromide, followed by recommending sublimation and/or a "therapeutic change in orientation."

Randall Horton, Solitary — R.I.P.

Sorry to report the death of a true eccentric: known to most as Brother Randy. He was found dead in his bathroom this afternoon — details as to cause of death and funeral plans will be forthcoming. Knowing Randy, the funeral will likely be a mix of monastic austerity and pure panache.

Randy was a fine musician, and served as organist in my parish for a few years before incipient MS began to take its toll on his abilities; and he chose to retire gracefully while still capable of performing. One of his last recitals included a performance of Franck's Grande Pièce Symphonique. And grand it was indeed.

Rest well, dear Brother Randy — your solitary days are over as you join the choir celestial.

Tobias Stanislas Haller BSG

Steppin' Out With STC...

So, I have recently received as a gift a subscription to The Anglican Theological Review, and, in reading my first two issues, found an interesting article by Jeffrey Barbeau, Coleridge, Christology and the Language of Redemption, which gave me new insight into the poet as theologian. The article traced Samuel Taylor Coleridge's symbolic view of the atonement (or, as he called it on at least one occasion, at-one-ment, a usage I've seen fairly often, though not attributed to Coleridge) and his concern for recapturing the language of Scripture as deployed in context. It's worth reading.

Bit here's a small facet of the article that leapt out at me: Coleridge, as quoted by Barbeau, rejected the notion of Jesus as pure example, or teacher: "But I want, I need, a Redeemer, and this is possible only under the two-fold condition which I find asserted in the New Testament and the creeds of the Universal Church--that he is my fellow-man but not my fellow-creature." (280; emphasis in original).

Coleridge further explains that the effect of Redemption is to replace the Old Man with the New--the self-centered with the Christ-centered life, which has the effect on us as of liberation from bondage, beginning our path to a new life. As he writes, the goal is for the human will to be "concentric" with that of God. And, Barbeau notes, these evolving views on the Atonement reflected Coleridge's own experience as he dealt with his opium use, and his "emerging recognition of the need for complete dependence on the Absolute Will". (276, n. 24).

Sound familiar? It should: In AA, the Third Step is for the alcoholic to have "[m]ade a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him." And, if STC is to be believed, such is the beginning of the human side of the action of at-one-ment.

Hearing Tomorrow in Fort Worth on Appeal Bond Issues

[UPDATE 05/20/2011: After being continued to May 19 (see below), the hearing held yesterday still did not result in a final order setting the amount of the bond. A press release from Bishop Iker's diocese describes what happened:
Efforts by local Episcopal Church parties were frustrated at several points during today's court hearing, which once again failed to resolve the question of the amount of a supersedeas bond.

Early in the hearing the Hon. John Chupp announced his decision to deny the TEC group's motion to strike four affidavits submitted in support of the Diocese for a $0 bond. With those affidavits remaining in evidence, counsel for the Diocese argued that there are no funds available for a bond, since the court's judgment earlier this year awarded all property in the diocesan Corporation to the local TEC minority.

The only fund available to the Diocese is assessment income for normal operating expenses, and existing law forbids a trial court from setting a supersedeas bond that interferes with the ordinary course of business.

Attorneys for the Episcopal minority group called a forensic accountant as expert witness, but, after cross examination by diocesan counsel and the judge, the witness, who was familiar with bank lending practices, agreed that he was not versed in the peculiarities of supersedeas bonds. He also agreed that the Diocese has no collateral. “How can they get a bond [without collateral]?” the judge asked.

Several times Judge Chupp decried the increasing litigation cost in the case, citing as one example the $24,000 which the forensic accountant confirmed he had charged the plaintiffs for his services.

About 80 minutes after the hearing began, Judge Chupp asked both teams of lawyers to confer together and try to reach an agreement, if they could, on the amount of the bond and related requests for information.

“I'm not negotiating; y'all figure it out,” he said, suggesting that the bond might be set at zero if other terms were agreed on.

When the hearing reconvened about 40 minutes later, attorneys for both sides agreed to work out a proposal and submit it to the court within two weeks. Each side also left a draft order with the judge; If there is no resolution within two weeks, he will sign one of the orders so that the case can proceed. It is anticipated that all this can be done without the necessity of another hearing in the matter.
I find it ironic, to say the least, that the local Episcopalians' take-no-prisoners strategy backfired on them -- the diocese cannot post a money bond, because the ersatz diocese has claimed all its assets, which cannot be touched pending the appeal! The judge was right to make the attorneys work it out under pressure of setting the bond at zero. It is time to stop all the posturing and maneuvering, and get on with the appeal.]


A hearing will take place tomorrow afternoon at 2 p.m. in front of Judge John Chupp, the Episcopal Diocese of Fort Worth has announced:
At 2 p.m. tomorrow, April 28, Judge John Chupp will determine to what extent he will permit the local minority group aligned with TEC to conduct discovery with regard to the Motion to Set Supersedeas Bond* that has been filed by our attorneys. We are asking Judge Chupp to permit the Diocese and our 48 congregations to continue to have possession of the property while the case is being appealed, without the necessity of posting a large bond. The local minority group wants to take depositions and conduct other discovery, including inspections of the property, ostensibly for the purpose of developing evidence to support their argument that a substantial bond should be required as a condition for the continued possession of the property by the Diocese and its congregations during the appeal.

According to David Weaver, who is representing our congregations, "Since the plaintiffs likely will not prevail on the bond issue, they are attempting a flanking maneuver by seeking permission from the Court to allow them to engage in expensive discovery procedures."

Please keep the hearing in your prayers, and, if possible, plan to attend. The 141st District Court is located on the fourth floor of the Family Law Center on Weatherford Street in Fort Worth.

----

*A supersedeas bond is a deposit made during an appeal process when the case involves property and the party making the appeal wishes to delay full payment until the process concludes.
[UPDATE 04/28/2011: See Carolyn's second comment below -- thanks for the report, Carolyn!]

The group led by Bishop Ohl has tried every maneuver in the book to push up the costs for Bishop Iker and his diocese. They are not interested in getting the case decided by the Texas Supreme Court as quickly as possible; they want to drag out the proceedings below by having court-ordered "inspections" of each individual church property, and depositions of church rectors and treasurers. Then they want to use any financial information so gathered as a means to argue that Bishop Iker's diocese should have to post a huge bond pending the appeal.

Bishop Iker and his diocese are not going anywhere. Nor are they engaged in running down their properties, or in selling off the altar cloths, or in recycling hymnals and prayer books. Were Bishop Ohl and his group to take over all the properties from this day forward, they would not be able to keep all of them staffed and maintained -- they would immediately have to offer a lot of them for sale, in a difficult market. They are far better off getting the free services of the properties' current occupants to keep them well-run and maintained while the appeal runs its course. Thus it is cynical at best, and harassment at worst, to request that the court drive up the costs of the defendants still more.

One can hope that Judge Chupp is beginning, through all of this extraneous maneuvering, to get the flavor, as we say, of those to whom he awarded the property -- and of where their hearts really lie.


Thought for 04.26.11

Authority is fictive. Obedience is real.

Authority is always conferred upon the one exercising it by those who choose to obey it. A monarch with only rebellious subjects, or with no subjects at all, possesses no real authority, but only a title. Reality, after all, is composed of relationships, not substances. A conductor without an orchestra may still fancy himself a conductor, but will make no music. What, after all, is music when it is not being played? Authority is granted reality by those who obey it.

Tobias Stanislas Haller BSG

Beth Johnson, reliable guide

Many of you have doubtless heard about the brouhaha about Elizabeth Johnson, Distinguished Professor of Theology at Fordham University, whose book Quest for the Living God was criticized, yea even condemned by the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops' Committee on Doctrine in late March. If you have not heard about the controversy, all the more reason to read the article linked below and links embedded in it.

Prof. Deirdre Good (who blogs at On Not Being a Sausage) and I have written an essay on Prof. Johnson, her theology, and the controversy. The article just came out today (Easter Monday, April 25) at the Episcopal Café. Have a look here (permanent link, will stay up even when article is no longer on the front page) and please feel welcome to leave a comment at the Café below the article.

Thought for 04.25.11

Faith exists only where it is possible to doubt.

Tobias Stanislas Haller BSG

In lieu of yet another Easter post


I will assume the devoted religious/faithful among my audience (devoted to actually reading this blog,however occasionally, I mean) will have had enough of Easter sermons and services today. Besides, in the context of a blog, there's nothing much I can say that I haven't already said.

So I would direct you to New Advent for a definitive word on "Easter." All I can add to all the people who think if un-Christian to attach Christian significance to a "pagan" holiday is: get over it. Oestre probably never existed (more like the Venerable Bede was being less venerable than we might expect, as he is the only source for that odd connection to "Easter," which is an English word, not a Christian one. The more proper Christian term is the "Pasch," but let that go, too.) Go to New Advent to get the word on bunnies and eggs and all things "easter," if you like. Turns out this has always been a season of celebration, and always a much more important event on the Church calendar than Christmas.

Which is interesting. Christmas is almost entirely a secular observance, even in the Church (you can look me up on that if you want). Easter still isn't. Good for Easter.

I really should be out playing some games....

Easter in Image and Music: Emmaus


Another encore from a few years ago: Symphonic Poem #2 — Two of them were walking.
Think Ralph Vaughn Williams meets the Klezmatics... and enjoy, as Jesus vanishes from their sight.

Tobias Stanislas Haller BSG

MP3 File

This is the night...


Lève-toi, réveille-toi d'entre les morts!

Click photo to enlarge and see detail.
See here and here for more from Kariye (Chora) in Istanbul.
Click the French line above for Resurrection chant from Taizé.

Good Friday: A Meditation on the Eleventh Station of the Cross

I am always moved and inspired by the Stations of the Cross at St. Mary's House. (Yes, Episcopalians have Stations of the Cross, though not everywhere.) A different person offers a meditation for each of the 14 stations, many spoken, some sung, one or two visual. So much wisdom, talent, heart, and faith for one small congregation.

Here is my meditation on the eleventh station, "Jesus Is Nailed to the Cross."


Jesus Is Nailed to the Cross


Were you there?

Are you there?

Will you be there?

Were you there ******** [italics indicate Jane singing a cappella]
when they crucified my Lord?
Were you there
when they crucified my Lord?
Oh, oh…
Sometimes
it causes me to tremble,
tremble, tremble…
Were you there
when they crucified my Lord?

These stories come from the witness of Kelsey McNicholas,
a student at Guilford College and a volunteer
with the humanitarian organization No More Deaths
which seeks out migrants in the desert
to give them water, food, medical care,
and presence.

When undocumented immigrants are caught
by the U.S. border patrol,
they are
detained.
Manuel González told Kelsey
that while in detention
on the U.S. side of the border,
our side,
he'd only been given peanut butter to eat.

Ricardo Emilio Sánchez,
walking beside Manuel and Kelsey,
chimed in
that he had been given a tiny cold hamburger
and a small juice
for the whole day.

During Kelsey’s time in Nogales, Mexico,
across the border from Tucson, Arizona,
other people who had recently been detained
on the other side,
our side,
and then deported back to the Mexican side,
told her
that they weren't allowed to sleep.
Guards would come in and blare music
to keep them from sleeping.

Women described being stripped
to their last layer of clothing
in a highly air conditioned room.

Men described
having seventy people crammed into one room,
so packed that three had to sleep in the bathroom,
preventing anyone from using the facilities for three days.

Were you there
when they nailed him to a tree?
Were you there
when they nailed him to a tree?
Oh, oh …
Sometimes
it causes me to tremble,
tremble, tremble…
Were you there
when they nailed him to a tree?

During the dangerous crossing
from Mexico to the U.S.
and on occasion
in the other direction,
women, children, and men
driven by economic necessity,
risk their lives
there, in the heat and the rocks.

Some die.

The bodies of those who died in the desert,
if they are not found soon enough,
disappear.
The desert heat and dryness
eat them away
and they are gone.
Flesh, bones.
Clothes.

Sometimes
after they die
or
if they are lucky,
after they are caught, arrested, and detained,
in the desert
a child’s shoe remains,
or a backpack,
or a small shrine to La Virgen de Guadalupe
in a hole in a rock.

The volunteers find them:
the shoe,
the backpack,
the shrine.

Sometimes, too, the border patrol discovers
these traces of human lives,
of faith,
fear,
the drive to survive.

Far away
from the hot desert
in which the migrants
walk in the
in-between place
between there and here
we are busy
making laws.

Were you there
when they pierced him in the side?
Were you there
when they pierced him in the side?
Oh, oh …
Sometimes
it causes me to tremble,
tremble, tremble…
Were you there
when they pierced him in the side?

Far away
from the hot desert of Arizona,
in the deserts of Australia
and Sudan
the droughts worsen.

In Alaska,
the caribou have changed their migration patterns
because the ice melts too soon.

In Japan,
some survivors of Hiroshima are still alive
while neighbors of Fukushima power plant wonder
whether they will become ill
next week
next month
or next year.

In Harlem and San Francisco.
Black and brown children,
God’s youngest
children,
are disproportionately represented
among children with asthma
wheezing and coughing in emergency rooms
with anxious parents at their side.

In fields and factories
on this continent north and south
workers labor amid chemicals
not fit for human consumption
so that we can have
our strawberries
and our t-shirts.

We have nailed the earth God made
to a cross of
heat and waste.

Were you there
when the sun refused to shine?
Were you there
when the sun refused to shine?
Oh, oh …
Sometimes
it causes me to tremble,
tremble, tremble…
Were you there
when the sun refused to shine?

By the cross of Jesus the Christ
the soldiers of the Empire
mock
and taunt
and violate
the precious body
of God.

They leave.

And behind them,
at the place of shame and death,
in the open torture chamber in the hot sun
only a few, few friends remain,
witnessing.

Mary of Magdala.
Mary the mother of Jesus.
One or two other women.
The beloved disciple,
whose name
we may or may not know.

Only their presence protests.

But they are present.

It is dangerous in the Roman Empire
even to stay and watch
the crucified.
Even more dangerous
to take the body down
and bury it with care
rather than letting birds, animals,
the hot sun,
destroy it
and its remains.

Were you there
when they laid him in the tomb?
Were you there
when they laid him in the tomb?
Oh, oh …
Sometimes
it causes me to tremble,
tremble, tremble…
Were you there
when they laid him in the tomb?


Were you there?

Are you there?

If we do not cry out
The stones will cry out.

But must we leave it to the stones?


Jane Carol Redmont
Good Friday 2011
St. Mary's House, Greensboro

Holding our breath

Good Friday Sermon - April 22, 2o11

Christ is reigning from the tree. Come let us adore him.

When I was a kid, my brothers and I used to play a game as rode in the car.

If we drove past a cemetery we’d hold our breath. Where did that game come from? I don’t know. Maybe we got it from an old superstition, not wanting to breathe in bad spirits or the spirits of the dead. Maybe it was a way for the young to flip our noses at death. Maybe it was a way to take our mind off of the fact of death itself. In all honesty, I think we just wanted to see how long we could hold our breath. But I think there was more to it than that. I say that because I have done a lot of breath-holding in my life...especially around death.

Games in the car are one thing, but the time came for me to confront death head on.

Still, breath-holding happens, sometimes in strange ways. I remember once being asked kindly but firmly by a physician not to go around the hospital wearing my clerical garb of black shirt and dog collar. “People might think when you come in that they are dying,” he told me. I didn’t ask if he held his breath whenever I walked past as I used to do when driving past a cemetery.

There have been moments in my life when I have been witness to death, where I have been called in to be the priest, the witness to God’s grace and the church’s representative to a person who is dying or has died and to loved ones. Sometimes I’ve been present when the person who has died is surrounded by family and friends and we prepared for that moment in prayer, in story-telling, and in tears.

There have been other moments when the person was alone, virtually unknown except for perhaps a name on a license in a wallet or purse. People who have died violently, or suddenly, or was suddenly stricken with no one to help, for whom the only witnesses were an EMT or a nurse or a police officer. It is these people I think of when we say the Great Litany and we pray “From dying suddenly and unprepared, Good Lord, deliver us.”

For some of these, frankly, I would still hold my breath. I’d keep these deaths at arm’s length with a cool clinical eye. Yes, my heart would tug, but these—especially in hospital ministry—I would attempt to keep at a safe distance. If you don’t, you go cuckoo.

But sometimes you can’t hide and you can’t hold your breath. The ones that took my breath away were the deaths of people close to me: my parents and family members, my friends and people in my parish. These were different to me. These were stark in their immediacy and impossible to hold at a clinical distance. This was when I could not hold my breath because there was no breath to hold.

We will all face death—and not just our own. We are told death is part and parcel of living.

Jesus died.

That is why we are here tonight. Jesus died.

It is important for me to say those two words in all their stark brevity. The bumper sticker tells us that Jesus died for our sins. We say that in our collects, prayers, scripture and story; and that is true. That is why he died. But when Jesus died there were no slogans, no anthems or hymns, no bumper stickers. In that moment it was just this simple fact: Jesus died.

We are tempted to jump past this moment and go straight to Easter. We are tempted to hold our breath and drive around this truth. It is like whistling in the dark—that nervous act of apparent confidence in the middle of the unknown. We do that when we are faced with a hard fact of life that we do not want to deal with. We hold our breath. We whistle in the dark. We cover our ears and hum. But no amount of avoidance can dodge this fact: Jesus died.

Jesus did not pretend. He did not hold his breath and wait till it went away. He died. If we forget that he died, or if we hold or breath or whistle past it, then we forget that Jesus lived, breathed, ate, loved, worked, grew as much as he taught, healed, preached and touched. Jesus had family and he had friends. He had enemies as well as people indifferent to his existence. He lived. Just like us.

And he died.

I am told that in earthquake ravaged Christchurch, New Zealand…whose “Big One” happened about a month before the earthquake and tsunami hit Japan…that many churches are uninhabitable. Many are so damaged that repairs, if they can be repaired at all, could take years. So there are a lot of congregations without homes. These communities have had to learn to improvise.

The big Presbyterian in Christchurch called Knox Church will hold their Easter day worship in a nearby funeral chapel. Their pastor, the Reverend Dr Geoff King, said "I guess it is ironic to be having a resurrection service in a funeral chapel."

I don’t know where they are holding their Good Friday services, but whether they go to the funeral chapel or not, they will find themselves in the same place as Jesus on the day of crucifixion…in the place of the dead.

I sure hope they don’t hold their breath to keep death away.

Whistling the dark won’t make it go away.

Jesus died. And so we live.

Christ is reigning from the tree. Come let us adore him.

If you were Queen, what would you do?

Maundy Thursday sermon, April 21, 2011

If you had all the power in the world, what would you do? If you had all the money in the world, how would you spend it? If you were King or Queen, and could by your mere command, make something happen, what would you make possible?

As we enter this special short season called the Triduum: now that we’ve left Lent and are on the way to the cross, watch what Jesus does. Notice how Jesus uses his power.

He has come into the Jerusalem riding on a donkey. People have spread branches of palm and their coats in his path. They have cried “hosanna” and hailed him as their king. Now the tide is turning. He has taught and preached in the Temple. He went to the temple and turned over the tables of the money changers and the animal vendors. The leaders of the Temple and the government of Rome have decided that this would be king must die. Say what you want about the Passion and Jesus’ role in it, what is happening here is a struggle for power.

Power happens. Power is. People are all the time looking for ways to get or keep power, and I don’t just mean political power or the power of wealth and fame. People struggle their whole lives to gain, keep and exercise power…power to make their own choices, power to influence others, power to make things happen. But power doesn’t just rise from within. It is all around us. Sometimes we are on the receiving end or, maybe, we are on giving end. Many people who study the psychology and behavior of people see this theme over and over again--how do we get, keep and use our power?

Much human struggle—both in human history and in our selves—is taken up with what to do about power.

Jesus, who could change water into wine, who could make the blind see and raise Lazarus from the dead, is about to walk into the full force and might of human power. He is about to go to the cross.

But first, he will gather with his disciples in the upper room and give them a lesson about God’s power versus human power. He will break bread and pour out wine and tell us that the broken bread is also his broken body, given for us. He will pour out wine and tell us that this is his blood which is poured for humanity for the forgiveness of sin. And then he will do something really strange: he will get down on his knees, assume the role of lowliest of servants, and wash the feet of his disciples.

He will tell us that in God’s economy, the way God’s power is expressed is in service to the least, the lowest and the lost. God’s power is not hoarded, but it is shared.

The word “Maundy” is an old-English word that grew out of the first line of the Latin form of Jesus’ words in the Gospel of John, “A new commandment I give to you that you love one another as I have loved you.” Many Christian traditions call this “Holy Thursday” instead or “Great Thursday.” Maybe we should think about this feast as “New Commandment Thursday.”

In England there is the custom of the Maundy that continues to this day: today Queen Elizabeth II gave out 85 bags of coins to 85 people on her 85th birthday. Rowan Williams, the Archbishop of Canterbury talked about the Queen’s Maundy money and what Jesus was up to in the upper room. He reminded listeners in Britain that once the kings and queens of England would not just hand out bags of coins but actually stoop to wash the feet of the poor.

They didn’t all do it because they were lovely humble people – some were, and some definitely weren’t – but because they accepted one great truth that needed repeating over and over again, the one big thing that Christianity had brought into the world of human imagination.

And that was – and is – the truth that power constantly needs to be reminded of what it’s for. Power exists, in the Church or the state or anywhere else, so that ordinary people may be treasured and looked after, especially those who don’t have the resources to look after themselves. The Bible is crystal clear that this is the standard by which the gospel of Jesus judges the powerful of this world.

It is not just monarchs, or presidents or titans of industry who have problems with power. We do too.

Have you ever noticed how when someone tries to grab power, to attract attention to themselves, to hoarde to themselves what they think they are entitled to, that the people around them tend not to trust them very much. People who are least at home with themselves, often try to get and keep power.

And isn’t just as true that when we feel the most out of control is when we do everything we can to stay in control? We try to manage other people’s feelings or to fix things so that everyone is happy or to make so that everyone will like us? The question is not if we should have power…we all do. The question is how we should use it. What is our power for?

Jesus’ lesson to his friends and followers is that real power comes only when we use it for others. That we will never know what it is like to be truly powerful until we discover what it is like to truly serve.

Our money is our power for good…if we choose to use it that way.

Our talents and gifts are our power to make the world a better place…if we choose.

Our relationships—our family life and our friendships and our encounters with strangers—is our power to heal and to lift up the dignity of others.

Jesus teaches us tonight that we will never know or have real power until we learn how to be served. If we cannot allow ourselves to be served, we cannot serve—which is why it’s important for you to risk a little embarrassment, a little discomfort, to allow your feet to be washed. It puts us in touch with the place in us that needs to be cared for; the place that we often hide because we don’t want to seem weak.

And it is important for people who lead to remember that we are in fact servants.

If you had all the power in the world, what would you do? If you were Queen, what would you do? The model and heart of the Christian faith is this: that the creator and maker of the universe, the One who spoke creation into being, took of his cloak, rolled up his sleeves, knelt down and did the humblest thing a person can do. This is how God treats the world…treats us…this is why Christ goes to the cross. So that we may have the power to do the same.

Way of the Cross

An "encore" from a few years back. A musical meditation on the Stations of the Cross. Themes of the Passion hymns are woven together with impressions of the mockery of the crowds, as the Servant King makes the perfect offering of himself for the salvation of the world. Drawing its musical inspiration from fractured versions of traditional Paschal hymnody, but culminating in a hopeful realization of O Traurigkeit:

O Jesus blest, my help and rest
with tears I pray thee, hear me;
now, and even unto death,
dearest Lord, be near me.

—Tobias Stanislas Haller BSG
performed by the Garritan Orchestra and the East West Symphonic Choir

MP3 File

Good Friday

For years, when I was a teen, I struggled with the name of this day--"pretty bloody awful Friday, if you ask me," I would snark in my best sub-Wodehousian manner.

Very clever.

Then, after my college years, I had a spell of alienation from the Church (Roman) and had not yet found my spiritual home in the Episcopal Church. My twin and I even scheduled inadvertently scheduled a birthday party on Good Friday, having lost track of Easter.

Oops!

Some years later, after my return to organized religion, as an Episcopalian, I hit bottom as an alcoholic. On Good Friday. On the day of our Lord's suffering for us, my own self-inflicted suffering reached its nadir. Good Friday has never been the same.

The difference was that, in my worst moments, God reached out to me again and again, and in the most unlikely ways--the Good Samaritan (an ex-convict, just out of prison, who walked me home, and thanked me for letting him help me), a good friend who bagged his plans for that Saturday night just to be with me, and so many others. (Hey, you want to her the full qualification, get to a meeting).

At the time, the irony seemed bitter--that I was such a drama addict that I had to stage my own collapse to last through Easter morning. In retrospect, though, I think it was entirely appropriate--I was past subtlety; I needed God to speak to me not with the "small, still voice" but fortissimo. Fortunately, He obliged.

So now Good Friday is inextricably linked for me with my own redemption not just in theology but in lived experience. I'm off to mark the occasion with the Liturgy of the Hours tonight, and then tomorrow I'll be at the Easter Vigil, where we celebrate our journey by God's Grace out of darkness into light.

Good Friday 2011



Good Friday should be silent. The church should be shrouded, the altar stripped, funereal cloths draped, only prayers and whispers heard. No music; certainly there should be no music.

Good Friday should be silent. The world needs occasions to consider the values of silence.

"Now in the place where he was crucified there was a garden; and in the garden a new sepulchre, wherein was never man yet laid."--John 19:41

Dating the Last Supper and Crucifixion

There is far more literature about the date of Jesus' death than there is about his birth. One reason is probably that there is so much more material in the Gospels about his last days. But another reason is also that the three synoptic Gospels disagree markedly with the Gospel of John over the chronology of the Last Supper and the Crucifixion. In the past, scholars simply had to agree to disagree, and to choose the version which they felt agreed best with the conflicting evidence.

Beginning in the last half of the last century, however, there have been a number of fresh approaches to resolving those conflicts. While a blog post is not the place for a critical review of the literature, I shall still try to give an overview of the most recent views and information.

Begin with the one fact one on which all four Gospels agree: Jesus was crucified and died on a Friday, the "day of preparation" before the Jewish sabbath. There was great concern about recovering his body and placing him in a tomb before sundown on the day he died, because of the impending Sabbath when no burials (or anointing of bodies) could take place. And the Gospels also all agree that it was early in the morning "on the first day of the week", i.e., Sunday, when the women hastened to the tomb to be able to complete the proper burial procedures for Jesus, only to find the tomb empty and the body gone.

So we have basic agreement on the three-day sequence of crucifixion, death and entombment on a Friday, everyone resting on the Sabbath, and discovery of the resurrection early Sunday morning. Beyond that simplified chronology, however, the conflicts and difficulties begin -- starting with the Last Supper.

The four Gospels also agree that the final sequence of events began with the Last Supper, followed by Jesus taking the disciples outside, to the Garden of Gethsemane, for prayer and vigil; followed by Jesus' betrayal, arrest, and trials, first before the high priest, then the Sanhedrin, then the first examination by Pontius Pilate, then an interrogation by Herod, and ending with his sentencing by Pilate. The disagreements begin with the nature of the Last Supper -- was it a Passover meal, as Matthew, Mark and Luke all describe it, or was it a meal taken on the eve of the day before Passover, as the Gospel of John takes great pains to make clear?

Resolution of this question interacts with the actual date of the crucifixion, which also has to do with the fixing of Passover in the Hebrew calendar used in the first century. Chapter 12 of Exodus, in verses 1-11, specifies the preparations for and celebration of Passover, always in the first month of the Jewish year. This month, originally called Abib in the Old Testament, had become known as Nisan (from its name in the Babylonian calendar used during exile) by the end of the Old Testament period. Exodus 12:6 requires that the Passover lamb be sacrificed on the 14th day of the first month, to provide the meal (with unleavened bread) for the start of the week-long Passover festival. That meal would take place after sundown on the day of the sacrifice, which was the start of the first day of Passover proper, on Nisan 15. (Although there is some dispute, most scholars agree that in the calendar system used by the Sanhedrin in Jerusalem in the first century, the day began with the first appearance of the stars after sunset, and ended with sunset on the following day.)

It is this unique feature of calculating the days in the Hebrew calendar, and matching those days to our own Julian/Gregorian dates, which causes much of the confusion and disagreement in Easter week chronology. Let us say, for example, that we choose to accept the narrative in the Gospel of John. Then Jesus died on the cross at the same time the Passover lambs were being sacrificed in the Temple -- that is, in the afternoon of Nisan 14. He was buried in Joseph of Arimathea's tomb before sundown on that day. The Sabbath, which began at sundown following the burial, was Nisan 15, and the third day, the day of resurrection, was Nisan 16.

But if the chronology of the synoptic Gospels is accepted, it would appear that Jesus and his disciples enjoyed their Passover meal at the start of Nisan 15 (after sundown on what we would call Thursday), and his trial, crucifixion and burial all took place on that same Jewish day (our Friday), so that the Sabbath was on Nisan 16, and the resurrection on Nisan 17. Thus the calendar sequence -- Thursday, Last Supper; Friday, crucifixion, death and burial; Sunday, resurrection -- remains the same for both accounts in our reckoning. The days in the Jewish calendar are what differ.

Well, you ask, why does it matter? The reason is that the Hebrew (not Julian) date of the crucifixion is crucial in determining the year in which Jesus died. If John is correct, Nisan 14 was on a Friday in that year; but if Matthew, Mark and Luke are correct, it was Nisan 15 that fell on a Friday. The two accounts obviously lead to different years as candidates -- and that has resulted in most of the ink that has been devoted to the controversy.

If we use the dates which Josephus tells us Pontius Pilate served in Judaea, then Jesus had to have died between the years A.D. 26 and A.D. 36. We can narrow this range down further by considering the data which St. Luke gives us. Luke, who as an historian has proved accurate in so many other things, reports that John the Baptist began his ministry in the "fifteenth year of the reign of Tiberius Caesar" (3:1), and that Jesus began his ministry when he was "about thirty years of age" (3:23), after he had been baptized by John. Historians generally agree that Tiberius' fifteenth year, in the regnal system used by Roman historians of the time, began in A.D. 29. If we allow some time between the start of John the Baptist's ministry and the start of Jesus' own, we see that the latter's crucifixion must have occurred in the latter half of the reign of Pontius Pilate, and not in the first half.

This conclusion is reinforced by the analysis done earlier here about the probable date of Jesus' birth. As we there reviewed all the latest evidence about the date of King Herod's death, and the amazing signs in the skies over Jerusalem in the years 3-2 B.C., we came to the conclusion that Jesus was probably born in early summer of 2 B.C., or perhaps as early as the fall of 3 B.C.

Adding 30 years to those dates (and remembering that there is no Year Zero in between 1 B.C. and 1 A.D.), would put the start of Jesus' ministry at the time Luke indicates, sometime after A.D. 29. If we then allow for at least one Passover (John's Gospel) or as much as three to four Passovers (the synoptic Gospels) for the duration of that ministry, the range of probable dates for Jesus' death falls between A.D. 30 at the very earliest, and A.D. 34 at the latest.

This narrows the choices based on Hebrew days considerably. For Nisan 14 fell on a Friday on just two years during that period: in A.D. 30 and again in A.D. 33. (Remember, we are talking about Nisan 14 beginning after sundown the previous Thursday and continuing until sundown Friday evening, after which Nisan 15 would begin.) And -- here is what I consider to be the decisive fact -- Nisan 15 never fell on a Friday in the years A.D. 30 through A.D. 34 (unless one allows for an intercalated month, as the Babylonians -- but not always the Sadducees -- might have done). The last time it fell on a Friday was in A.D. 27, a date which is certainly too early for the crucifixion, for the reasons given above. (And if the Sanhedrin did agree to add an extra month the way the Babylonians probably did in A.D. 34, then Nisan 15 would have also been on a Friday in that year. But there is no evidence of the Sanhedrin ever having been guided in these matters by the Jews who remained in Babylon.)

The upshot of all this calendrical evidence is that there are really only two viable candidate years for Jesus' death during the reign of Pontius Pilate: A.D. 30, when Nisan 14 fell on Friday, April 7, and A.D. 33, when Nisan 14 fell on Friday, April 3. Next we ask: are there any other considerations that would allow us to choose between these two possibilities?

As noted earlier, the date of April 7, 30 A.D. is a little too close to Luke's data concerning the commencement of the ministries of John the Baptist and Jesus, respectively. We would then be using Luke to date the crucifixion, but relying on John's account of Jesus' ministry ending after only a year, rather than Luke's account of a three-year ministry. The scales are tipped decisively in favor of A.D. 33, however, by two other undeniable historical facts.

The first is a seemingly remote event in Rome, which might be thought at first to have no connection to Jesus' crucifixion and death. In the last weeks of A.D. 31, Tiberius Caesar first deposed, then allowed to be killed, his tyrannical prime minister and strongman Sejanus, who was (according to Philo and Josephus) vindictively anti-Semitic. It was under his influence that Pontius Pilate committed a number of violent outrages against the Jews in the first years of his rule, as reported by Josephus. But after his death, Tiberius sent word to his governors to treat the Jews with more respect for their customs and ways. Many scholars thus argue that Pilate's vacillation in condemning Jesus was because he did not want to be embarrassed before Tiberius under this new edict, while if the trial had occurred in A.D. 30, while Sejanus was still running things, Pilate would have had no fears whatsoever on that score.

The second consideration is an astronomical one. Given the signs in the skies that attended Jesus' birth, as noted in this earlier post, it is perhaps fitting that on April 3, in A.D. 33, there was a partial lunar eclipse in Jerusalem, when the moon would have taken on a blood-reddish hue. (The eclipse began at 3 in the afternoon, but the moon would still have been below the horizon at that point; by the time it rose several hours later, there is some dispute about how red it would have remained to the naked eye.) Luke (23:44) speaks of "the sun's light having failed" (or, as some ancient manuscripts have it, "the sun was darkened") at the moment of Jesus' death, and perhaps this refers to a faint memory of what was actually a darkening of the moon (there being no way that a solar eclipse could occur on Passover, a night with a full moon).

With the account in John's Gospel thus vindicated, it becomes possible to assert, with some degree of certainty, that Jesus died on the day of preparation for Passover (Nisan 14), on April 3, in A.D. 33. (In the "nothing new under the sun" category, note that Isaac Newton had arrived at this same conclusion -- as his second choice, however -- by 1733.) If one realizes that Nisan 14 ended on that date around 6 P.M. local time, and Nisan 15 then began, it might be possible to reconcile the differences between the chronologies of John and the synoptics if the two were using different calendrical systems, and that is what a number of recent scholars indeed have argued, as Pope Benedict XVI discusses in his recent book. (One even contends that Jesus and his disciples would have been following an ancient pre-exilic calendar, where Passover would have been observed on Wednesday, April 1 in A.D. 33, even though most of Jerusalem would have observed it on Friday, April 3. This allows the Last Supper to have been a true Passover meal, while also adding another whole day for Jesus' arrest and multiple trials.)

The solution which has garnered the largest following is that reached by John P. Meier in his monumental four-volume work, A Marginal Jew: Rethinking the Historical Jesus (Vol. 1, at pp. 399 ff.). He accepts the Johannine account, according to which the Last Supper occurred at the start of Nisan 14, the day of preparation for the Passover. (However, he comes down for Nisan 14 in A.D. 30, based on his having been influenced by the traditional arguments for Jesus' birth in 4 B.C. or earlier.) In his view, Jesus realized that he would not live to celebrate the traditional Passover meal with his disciples, and so used this necessity to inaugurate the new sacrament of Holy Eucharist -- which could explain the remarks in John's narrative about Jesus not partaking of wine or bread again with his disciples "in this world". In describing the meal as a "Passover" one, therefore, the synoptic accounts conflated the old tradition with the new, as Jesus -- being the supreme Paschal lamb -- could well have intended.