An Answer Remembered

As Christians, we are part of a long tradition of people who are intent on remembering their story, of remembering the points in our history where God has decisively and definitely acted on our behalf. This rich tradition, of course, began with the ancient Israelites who rehearsed their salvation story - the story where the Angel of Death "passed over" the Jewish firstborns killing the Egyptian firstborns, which ultimately led to their exodus from slavery - once a year at the Feast of the Passover. This was actually a law that the Lord God required of them, in order that they not forget the wonderful acts of their God.

Christians continue this tradition with the celebration of the Eucharist, which I would argue, is the central act of the church. Every time we celebrate the Eucharist, we remember the sacrifice of Christ - his broken body and his shed blood. We remember the story and we make it present once again for us. Christ also prescribed such an action when he proclaimed to his disciples: "Do this in remembrance of me."

One of the reasons that God has demanded such constant acts of remembrance is because we are forgetful people. We need to remember because it is so easy for us to forget - when we feel that God has not answered our prayers or that he has not been present to us for awhile, we quickly jump to the conclusion that he has never been there.

I think, therefore, that it is entirely helpful, and entirely biblical for that matter, to work at remembering the times in your life when God has clearly answered prayer. Such an act can increase your faith and inspire you to more prayer, though you may feel that no one is listening. In light of that, I would like to rehearse for you one of the times in my life when God most clearly and most lovingly answered my prayer.

March of 2006, Julie and I were in Kentucky, unsure of our next steps. I had been accepted to Marquette for doctoral work, but we had no provisions for tuition money. My last chance was the John Wesley Fellowship, but for various reasons, that looked very doubtful. I was scheduled to fly to Houston for an interview one Friday. At the same time, Julie was driving to Milwaukee to interview for a position. She left on Thursday morning and I had the evening to myself. With so much at stake, I decided that I had a lot of praying to do.

Around 9:00 in the evening, I headed to Asbury Seminary, about a mile from our house. I wanted to pray in a special place, which for me was Asbury's chapel, Estes Chapel. At 9:00 in the evening, I figured the place would be deserted and I would be alone with the Lord and my prayers. To my dismay however, as I approached Estes, I saw that all lights were blazing and there was some extremely loud, and rather poor, organ music emanating from the place. Disappointed and dejected, I considered turning around and heading home. Instead, I found a little prayer chapel just to the side of Estes, which I always knew was there, but in which I had never spent much time.

With the lights off, I kneeled at the small altar and began praying about all of the things that were heavy on my heart. I prayed for my wife and for her interview, for her calling in ministry and for our marriage. I prayed for my interview and my calling and for the challenges that a PhD program entailed. Finally I began to pray for the means to pay for the tuition. Knowing that the John Wesley Fellowship was unlikely, I simply began praying that the Lord's will be done. It became a refrain in my prayer: "Lord that you would provide the means to pay for this: your will be done." I remember simply repeating that phrase again and again. At one point in the prayer I looked up and caught my breath at the words engraved above the altar where I knelt:

"Thy will be done."

As most of you know, Julie got the job she interviewed for and I was fortunate enough to receive the John Wesley Fellowship, which has helped us so much this year. We often wonder how we could have done this without the Fellowship. However, I do not think that earning the Fellowship was God's answer to my prayer that night in March 2006. I believe that it was rather his words to me: "Thy will be done." Seeing those words were like God's arms around me, assuring me that he was with me in this walk. That he would not leave me. And though there have been times this year when I have forgotten - more times than I care to relate - I know that this truth remains. God is with me. God is with us.

We simply need to remember.

Remembering Easter

There is a Russian Orthodox monk who teaches at Marquette, of whom I have previously written on this blog, named Father Alexander. Through these first few months that I have known him, he has always worn the same thing, a rather tattered, plain black monastic robe. Today, I noticed that he had undergone a stunning transformation - he was dressed in a white robe, an ancient monastic tradition marking the change of reality brought by the resurrection.

Of course, Jesus resurrected from the grave several millenia ago; thus, we have technically been living in the new age, the age where death is abolished and the world in the process of recreation, for the entirety of all of our lives. What change should there be, then, from last week to now? In a word, much.

The church rehearses the Christian story each year through our reading of Scripture and our liturgical celebrations. We do this to remind us of the decisive truths that God has acted definitively in the world to save us from sin and death. We are a sinful people who, like Israel, too quickly forget. We are in desperate need, in other words, of remembering.

The Greek word for "remembrance" is anamnesis, and it is much more nuanced than our English word "remember." When we say we "remember", we think about something that is in the past and we think about that time back then, that is, back in the past. But anamnesis is not simply the remembering of something that is in the past. Rather, it is the re-calling of something in the past so as to make it present for us today. Anamnesis is literally the re-presenting of a past event in our present life. Thus, when the church remembers the resurrection of the Lord, we do not simply think about a past event, we bring that past event into our present reality. Christ the Lord is risen today!

The early church symbolized this through the ancient tradition of Easter morning baptisms. Normally, Easter was the only day in which a baptism would take place. And the catechumens would be led to the living water at dawn on Easter morning, the same time that the women came upon the empty tomb. As the catechumens were baptized in the water, they remembered the resurrection of their Lord and it was present to them. And coming out of the water, they dawned the white robe symbolizing their new, imperishable garments in Christ.

Christ died and rose 2000 years ago, yes. But in our rehearsal of the story yesterday, we have made the reality of the empty tomb real in our time. As a result, there is a change this week from last week. Our remembering of that story and that truth ought encourage us to walk in the new life. We all, like Father Alexander, should be walking in white robes.