The landscape of our worship space is left bare
By day, by night, I cry out.
Let my prayer reach you;
turn, listen to me.
Lord, I cry out to you all day,
my hands keep reaching out.
Excerpt from Psalm 88 - The Psalter: A faithful and Inclusive Rendering of the Psalter
Feet have been washed, the sacramental supper received. The liturgy on Maundy Thursday is filled with signs and symbols and we filled with humble blessing. But there is a shift from full to empty, as the darkest despair of the psalter, Psalm 88, is read or chanted while we watch the books, candles, communion vessels, linens, paraments, and yes, even the cross, lovingly stripped away as the landscape of our worship space is left bare and we prepare for the reality of death and burial.
The party's over. We are left feeling naked and vulnerable. We are left in deep lament. To deny or avoid such loss and grief is to deny a profound opportunity to turn empty to God. So we wait in silence for that which is yet to come with outreaching hands. Our prayer is devoid of words. We simply embrace the divine mystery of the Passion.
--Madelyn Herman Busse, diaconal minister
Assistant to the Bishop
Assistant to the Bishop
About the photo: When Good Shepherd Lutheran Church in Denver closed last year, the building was sold. When the cross was removed from the wall, its radiance remained on the brick wall. The cross now hangs at Rejoice Lutheran Church, Erie, Colorado. (Photo by Dena Williams)
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