Denise Day Spencer

Recently I was walking across our campus and saw that the teacher for our K-grade 2 faculty/staff children had the kids out doing foot races. Everyone was running gleefully except for one little fellow who was having a meltdown. He sat on a rock, the hood of his neon-orange raincoat pulled over his downcast head.

“It’s not fair!” he wailed. “I always lose! In every race, I always lose!”

One of his small buddies approached to offer support. He stooped slightly to get down on his friend’s level. “When I run really fast my brain hurts!” he offered. I have no idea how that was supposed to help, but bless his little heart, he tried.

Aren’t little kids the greatest?

Don’t you just hate it when you do something that makes you feel about a half-inch tall?

I work in our school’s print shop. One of our pet peeves is people who knock on the door. They’re not supposed to knock. They’re supposed to come in and then one of the kindly print shop workers will assist them. You see, when they knock we have to stop whatever we’re doing and go answer the door. We may be at the computer. We might be on the phone. We could be in the back of the shop, running the labeling machine (in which case we wouldn’t even hear the knock at the door.)

We used to have a particular employee who always–always–knocked, even though we’d told her countless times that she didn’t have to do that. And one of our former kindly print shop workers would tell her, “You don’t knock on the door at WalMart, do you? Just come in!” But the next time she came calling we’d hear that tap-tap-tap once more.

It seems to me that this week we’ve had an unusually high number of rapping knuckles at our door. So today, there I sat, alone at my desk when it happened again. Knock, knock. “Oh, bother,” thought I. “Now what?” It was a gentle tapping. Knock, knock, knock. “Who’s knocking? You know, I shouldn’t get up and answer it. If they want in badly enough, they’ll just have to open the door!” Knock, knock. Knock, knock. Persistent little devil, wasn’t he/she? “Oh, all right. I’ll get it!”

I opened the door and there stood “Molly,” our one-armed student. Her lone arm was holding a load of books and in her only hand was the note she was trying to deliver to my co-worker. I’m not even sure how she’d been knocking.

But Molly wasn’t irritated. She smiled brightly, as she always does. I meekly took her note and smiled back. That’s all you can do when you’re about a half-inch tall.

Monday evening I went with a group of friends to see a passion play at a church in a nearby town. They did a wonderful job, and it was quite moving. As the Roman soldiers drove the spikes into Jesus’ feet and wrists and lifted the cross into place, my only thought was a truth I’ve known all my life that still at times seems utterly surreal.

God sent us His Son and we crucified Him.

Lord, have mercy on us all. Agnus Dei, qui tolis peccata mundi, miserere nobis.

They sit alone,

in silver silence gleaming

through the thin, white shroud

that covers them with gentle folds.

Within them wait the wafers and the wine,

a symbol lingering through the years

to make a memory come alive.

He lay alone,

in shadowed silence resting

‘neath the thick, pale wrap

that bound Him up, His body dead.

But then within, the man began to stir,

returning through the door of death

to prove the power of our God.

I stand alone,

in spellbound silence wondering

at the thin, dim veil

that keeps Him from my seeking eyes.

Beyond, with arms outstretched, He beckons me

to rise above this wordly wall

and let my soul commune with His.

Michael and I must be two of the few remaining people in the U.S. who do not own a cell phone. So you may think I’m prejudiced, and perhaps you’re right.

But still I say, “People! When you go to a concert, a play, a recital, or for goodness’ sake a worship service, please turn your cell phone off!  And if you absolutely must leave it on, then ANSWER it when it rings, for crying out loud! If that call is so all-fire important that it was worth disturbing the mood for the audience and breaking the concentration of the musicians/actors/etc., then doesn’t it need to be answered?!”

In other words, when there’s a passion play and Jesus is suffering his last moments of agony on the cross and suddenly the silence is broken by the merry melody of a cell phone that rings…and rings…and rings…and rings…That’s not cool.

Today we celebrate Palm Sunday.

I’ve seen the scene acted out in plays and films. Jesus, meek and mild, riding into Jerusalem on a donkey. People everywhere, lining the streets to shout “Hosanna!” and honor him as king. You’ve probably seen it, too. Think back. In the scenes you’ve watched, was he smiling? Read the rest of this entry »

Well, last weekend we had ourselves some snow. Actually, we didn’t get nearly as much as the forecast predicted we might, but it was still more than we’d had in a while. All in all, it’s been a mild winter for us, so I’ve had no complaints. The snow just got me to thinking about seasons. Read the rest of this entry »

DUST

A thin

layer fits

foot to

footprint,

revives

a moment

we don’t

remember

but can’t

forget.

– Father Leonard Cochran. O.P.

NARRATOR: “Now from the sixth hour there was darkness over all the land until the ninth hour. And…Jesus cried with a loud voice saying…’My God, my God, why have You forsaken me?’…and Jesus cried out…and yielded up his spirit…

“There were many women there, looking on from a distance, who had followed him from Galilee, ministering to him.” *

WOMAN: (stands holding one or more long pieces of cloth) I was a follower of Jesus, but not until the very end. But you see, I had no idea it was the end. My name is unimportant. You won’t find me in your Bible, because I’m not there. But I was there–when Jesus came to town. Read the rest of this entry »

A TESTIMONY: JOHN THE BAPTIST
By Denise Day Spencer

NARRATOR: The word of God came to John in the desert. He went into all the country around the Jordan, preaching a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. But when John rebuked Herod the king, (looking at JOHN) Herod locked John up in prison. *

JOHN: I always knew I was not the Messiah. But I thought Jesus was. It was my job to be his messenger, to point the people to him. I got their attention, too, for my sermon was powerful. Read the rest of this entry »