“After these things, Joseph of Arimathea, who was a disciple of Jesus, though a secret one because of his fear of the Jews, asked Pilate to let him take away the body of Jesus. Pilate gave him permission; so he came and removed his body. Nicodemus, who had at first come to Jesus by night, also came, bringing a mixture of myrrh and aloes, weighing about a hundred pounds. They took the body of Jesus and wrapped it with the spices in linen cloths, according to the burial custom of the Jews.” (John 19:38-40)

It is only three short verses, but it asks us volumes about our faith. All the disciples have deserted Jesus; Peter has denied him three times. Where were they when Jesus breathed his last? Were they hiding but watching the crucifixion perched on a nearby hill, or were they worried about their own lives and had gone far away hoping that no one like the servant girl had ever seen them with Jesus.

Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus are both members of the Sanhedrin, the supreme council in charge of Jewish affairs in Roman Palestine. They risked their wealth, their reputation, and their lives to remove Jesus’s body from the Cross and wrap it in fine linen. This public display of responsibility but also affection spoke volumes of them as followers of Christ. They were willing to go public with their faith, recognizing Jesus as the Messiah for whom the Jews had been waiting over two millennia.

Since we know the end of the story, we are in a rush to “put him into the ground” so that he can rise again. But let’s spend time thinking how we would act at that moment of his last breath.

What about you? Do you hang back in the shadows, hoping that no one sees you going to church or identifying with the one they call Jesus? Or are you like Joseph and Nicodemus, willing to risk your reputation and even your life to gingerly reclaim His body and to proclaim, “My Lord, and my God”?

Blessings, my friend,

Agatha

(Note: In the image by Rubens, the crown of thorns has been removed and cast into the waste bucket at the foot of the cross. Our sins, represented by the thorns, have already been cleansed.)

I just moved from Nashville, TN to Durham, NC a few months ago and did my best to sort through a lifetime of furniture and keepsakes to decide what I would keep as I was downsizing. I did a pretty good job, but there were still six boxes in the attic that I didn’t get a chance to sift through, so I told the movers, “just put them on the truck” thinking I’d get to them when I moved.

I’d been warned against moving boxes just to be moving them, but as it turned out, I fell walking my dogs during the ice storm we had a month ago and broke my left kneecap. No surgery needed, for which I am grateful, but being immobilized for the past four weeks gave me some time to tackle those last six boxes.

There were many items to just shred, but one stuck out. It was a drawing I’d done that I would call the “stages of my faith.” It was between two packets of papers, one dated 2014 and one 2017, so I presume that I had done the drawing around ten years ago. I’ve included it here.

I recognized it immediately. I don’t know why I decided to draw on the paper upside down, but the stairsteps reminded me that faith has both plateaus and hills. As I contemplated the first ledge, “I am a sinner,” I asked myself what I was thinking when I wrote and drew over 10 years ago.

It was more like 20 years ago when I embarked on an examination of my faith. It was in 2006 that I was diagnosed with breast cancer, and changed my life. It was around then that I realized that growing up Roman Catholic, I had been enthroned in the concept of personal sin, but for me it always had a “but” associated with it. “I am a sinner, but… I’m not as bad as the friend who cheats on his taxes, or the boss who takes money out of the cash register where I do relief work as a pharmacist.” “I am a sinner, but I give money to the church and non-profits, and I don’t gossip about people behind their back.”

“I am a sinner, but….”

It took me months and even years to realize that real faith starts with a hard stop: “I am a sinner.”

I stopped comparing myself to other people trying to earn God’s favor or look better in our capitalist world. How big a house did I really need? How many vacations did I need to take?

My faith began with my understanding that my relationship with God was based on an unwavering floor. I am God’s creation, but I am also a sinner. For me, it was impossible to move to the next level of faith, without sitting on this one plateau for a very, very long time.

More about the other stages of my faith in future posts, but I wanted to share how a box of memories brought back an important realization for me and started me on my relationship with God, not as tyrant, but as a friend.

Blessings, my friend,

Agatha

When I first joined FACEBOOK in 2011, I knew that I was a bit late to the party, but I was writing a memoir and launched a website (www.agathanolen.com) and wanted to be able to share my stories and photographs with everyone who was interested in dialoguing about our relationship with God and the relationships that flow from that first love.

I friended friends, friends of friends, and even remote acquaintances with the idea that using the internet to span enormous spaces was healthy and would promote new ideas and relationships. Over the 15 years, I now have 6700 followers on Facebook, although I admit I don’t know all of them personally. In 2010, I helped on the U.S. Congressional campaign of a good friend in Tennessee. He is a Republican, but I’ve voted a split ticket for decades. I didn’t support him because of, or in spite of his political party, but I found him to be honest, trustworthy, and a gentleman who embodied living out his Christian faith with actions. I supported the man, independent of the party, and believed that we needed more like him in Congress. Well, we lost, but through it I met very interesting people throughout the political spectrum, and of course, asked them all to be Facebook friends.

As the rhetoric has changed in the past 15 years, I’ve found it difficult to read many of the posts of my “friends”. It hasn’t been their political ideology that has been troublesome, but the name-calling. I wasn’t raised that way, and my closest in-person friends would never stoop to denigrate a person with words. I do believe that all people bear God’s image and it’s hard for me to imagine anyone wanting to tear another person down.

As Facebook seemed to swing more political, I asked myself what I wanted to post on my page. I felt like I had expertise in a few areas: pharmacy and pharmaceutical products, U.S. health policy and most recently, issues on theology. So, I felt like I could appropriately chime in on these subjects as someone who really knows what they are talking about. In addition, I have opinions about a lot of things that I don’t have expertise in. I try to clearly label those posts as to what I BELIEVE. I’m not trying to convince anyone that they are wrong and I am right. It is my page and it is what I BELIEVE.

However, I admit now that I was wrong. Being a positive influence on the internet has little virtue. As I read through the insults, AI-generated fake news, and “cute” memes I have become disheartened.

I will continue to post as before with my same rules, but for the first time in 15 years I am unfriending people. I have decided that if you post and call people “Commies” because of their political party, reference ex-President’s sex lives in every post, call a sitting President a pedophile, denigrate someone because of their disability, race, or gender, I cannot be your “friend”. This would be easier if they are people I’ve never met, but some are those I was in third grade with, worked with, went to church with, or even shared a cocktail or two. I was interested in staying in touch because of those fond memories, but people change.

I’ve been asked by other friends why I let “trolls” comment on my posts. It was a somber question that I contemplated for quite a while. And then I decided. Maybe we were friends once, but no longer. I won’t let you “troll” my page any longer if you are name-calling. It is always sad when a “friendship” dies. But it does happen, and I need to move on.

Blessings, my true friends,

Agatha