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Ascension

Ever since Christ’s Ascension people have a deeply rooted tendency in religious life to look up.  Here on earth, in the “vale of tears,” it can’t be found.  We have a religious homesickness for heaven.  The disciples looked up to heaven when He disappeared from their eyes.  But the angels who stood by pointed in a different direction, back to the earth.  “Why do you stand there looking up to heaven?  This Jesus, who has been taken up before you into heaven, will come again, revealed in the same way as you have now seen him pass into the heavenly sphere.” (Acts 1: 11)

Where should we look to find Him?  Where did Christ go when He left the earth?  With Ascension He disappeared from view, with the promise of His coming, His coming again.  And what else is the second coming than His heaven on earth?

It is as if by centuries of looking up to heaven we have forgotten to look for Him on earth.  Look at your neighbor, even if he is a stranger to you, even if he is your opponent, even if he is your enemy.  For just as in yourself, in the depth of his being a king is hidden who is waiting to be freed.  His name is: Christ in me.  Christ in you.  Christ in us.

In the words of the poet, Lita Vuerhard:

We await him who from his throne
Will radiantly descend.
His heavens full of angels’ songs.
For centuries we await this now
If it will repeat itself.

Away from the world,
To heavenly pastures
We threw our yearning gaze,
In the highest of all lights
To behold his approach.

But he lies deeply in our soul
Shining as a precious stone.
Come, he calls, I’m worthy of it.
Into the depths for Ascension,
As deep as you can sink!

-Rev. Bastiaan Baan, June 1, 2025.

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Contemplation on the Service for a Deceased Perso

When a person is dying, in the last weeks or days of life the mask of the everyday personality drops off. It is as if not only the physical sheath, but also the sheath of the soul breaks open. A dying person usually shows himself in all his vulnerability, as he rarely did during life. When you cross the threshold so vulnerably and broken-open, it is not surprising that on the other side of the threshold you are as helpless as a newborn baby. No wonder that in antiquity the day of death was called dies natalis, which means “day of birth.”
A fifteen-year old girl wrote on the day before she died totally unexpectedly a poem with the words:

Two woven hands
Unfold as two wings.
An inexplicable light.
Cries of joy, unheard.
Unborn being,
Forlorn human being,
Helplessly planted.

That is the world of a person who has just died, an unprecedented, unknown world, into which you are helplessly planted. There you need to be enveloped, just like a newborn. Thank God, that help comes in the form of angels’ hands that receive the deceased on the other side. But in the months and years after crossing the threshold, the deceased is still in all his fibers connected with us, the living.

The angels cannot give him the protection he needs by themselves. We humans cannot do that either. But together, angels and living partners in distress, we can help him come home in the land of his birth. That is the meaning and significance of the Act of Consecration for the Dead, just as formerly, in all times and cultures, people prayed for the deceased.

That is why we gather at the altar to accompany our dear deceased with our prayers, with our offering—for them to get wings in the world of the spirit.

-Rev. Bastiaan Baan, May 18, 2025

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Peace be with you! (John 20:27)

The more often you hear these words, the more you may be surprised that they do not express an incontrovertible truth, but a possibility. Why did Christ never say: “Peace is with you”—not even to doubting Thomas, who was allowed to touch him? And why do we never hear at the altar: “Peace is with you”—whereas He is giving it to us? Does this mean that we have to make this possibility a reality?

What do we do with the soft touch of Peace that we receive at the altar? What does this touch bring about?

Peace is a mood that wants to reach further than a feeling of rest and harmony. It wants to be part of our voice, our gestures, even our feet. Are our feet—speaking with Paul—“…shoed with preparedness to spread the message of peace…?” (Ephesians 6:15)

With our feet we walk the path of our life. Semiconsciously and consciously we leave our traces. Only when we walk with Christ and He with us, do our feet begin to spread the message of His Peace. His Peace is not only meant for me, not only for my destiny, but also for everyone’s destiny. This Peace wants to go into the world in us, through us, to save what can be saved. For, Peace in the world is inconceivable. But walking the still, narrow path of Peace—this creates in a torn world an indelible track.

– Rev. Bastiaan Baan, April 27, 2025

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Easter

Never to die anymore—that might well be the worst that could ever happen to a human being.  If that ever came to pass, a human life would never be able to renew itself.  When a life is fulfilled, death comes as a liberator.  When you are weak and infirm, when the burden of the years and cares becomes unbearable, death is the greatest benefactor who bestows another form of life on us.

Finally, the dying person is redeemed from suffering, freed out of the prison of the body.  Sometimes this liberation shows itself even visibly.  After the death throes the deceased leaves its traces on the face—an expression of rest and nobility that you don’t find anywhere but in death.  Finally freed from the burden of life.

When Christ died, something else happened—completely different from the death of every human being.  Long before His death on the cross, He announced His path already with the prediction: “The Son of Man will be for three days and three nights in the heart of the earth.”  The heart of the earth has a sting, which is death.  Its lord and master?  It is the prince of darkness.

Christ did not wage the worst battle on the earth, but in the heart of the earth—to vanquish death from the inside, to heal the heart of the earth.

Since His death, each human being who seeks Him can die differently—no longer imprisoned in the heart of the earth, but secure in the heart of Christ, where each who has sought Him has a home.

Christ was not committed to the earth like mortal remains.  He laid Himself into the earth to renew His creation—as a seed that lets blossom the whole earth.

 

Rev. Bastiaan Baan, Easter 2025

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Judas and Mary Magdalene

In the middle of Holy Week, money has the leading part, both in the anointing Mary Magdalene performs and in the deed of Judas.  In both cases, money is the instrument of the opponent who wants to break Jesus’ power.  When the woman anoints Jesus’ head with oil, the disciples are indignant because of the waste of so much money.  They are blind to the meaning of His consecration to death.  The only thing that counts is money.

When Judas betrays his master, the chief priests offer him the paltry amount of thirty pieces of silver for his capture.  That is how slaves were traded in those days.  But usually, when someone sold a slave, the price was mentioned by the slave trader.  Then they haggled, until the trade was made.  Now the roles are reversed:  a human being (Ecce homo—See, the human being) is sold for what the buyer offers.  There is no haggling at all.  In the eyes of the chief priests, Jesus is less than a slave.

With all these humiliating actions you can become desperate about the power of money and the shortsightedness of people.  But Jesus sees beyond their shortsightedness.

Even when evil works openly, when Satan takes possession of Judas, even when evil triumphs—even then it is no more than a tool of the power that prevails.

That’s how it went when the decision about the lot of Jesus was made.  There was no escaping it.  But on the way that is waiting for Him, Jesus is much more than just a victim.

Church Father Augustine tried to put himself in Jesus’ state of mind from that moment.  He put the words in His mouth: “I suffer not for my sins, but when I die I fulfill the will of my Father.  Then I DO more than I SUFFER.”

What from the human point of view is the deepest suffering, is from the divine point of view the highest form of strength.  Golgotha is at the same time the deepest tragedy and the greatest deed.  In the words of archangel Michael that sound in the fall in the epistle at the altar: “The deed that created life out of death on Golgotha.”

 

Rev. Bastiaan Baan, April 18, 2025

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The Entry into Jerusalem

In the months of the life of Christ that led up to Golgotha, what will take place there sounds again and again.  Christ Himself foresees His future.  Three times He proclaims the way He is to go: See, we are going up to Jerusalem.  And everything foretold in the books of the prophets will be fulfilled on the Son of Man.

But the dead know it too.  During the Transfiguration on the mountain, Moses and Elijah appear.  Luke writes: “They spoke of the fulfillment that His earthly life was about to reach in Jerusalem,” literally, about His ex-hodos, His going-out.  Why is Jerusalem mentioned all the time?

Jerusalem means: City of Peace.  If there is one city in the world that is torn apart by fighting, it surely is Jerusalem.  Even today it is a bone of contention of peoples and religions.  Countless times, the city has been destroyed and built up again.  Under thick layers of sand and stones lie the remnants of destroyed and ruined cultures.  And thus it will probably continue to go in the future.

With foresight, Christ chose this city as the place of His entry and of His exodus.  Gently, seated on a donkey, He enters the city of peace that has become a city of strife, as if he wanted to say with this entry:

I create a way up in the way down
I create life in death
I create peace in violence
I go with you on the long way from the old to the New Jerusalem, the City of Peace.

-Rev. Bastiaan Baan, April 13, 2025

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“And He was transformed before them.” (Matthew 17:2)

“And He was transformed before them. His countenance shone like the sun, and His garments became shining white like light” (Matthew 17:2)

Every encounter with a human being leaves an impression of his or her outer appearance, mostly so clear that this outer image is etched into our memory.  Even when a person has died, this image stays with us; we still portray him the same way, whereas he has in reality left this form of existence behind long ago.  We do that with everyone who has died, even if they have laid their mortal sheath aside a century ago.  In reality, the dead are living in a very different world, in a very different appearance.  I think we would be surprised if we were allowed to see them in their actual appearance.  Would we still recognize them?

This is what we have also done for centuries with the human being Jesus Christ.  We picture Him the way He lived on earth, the way He suffered and died on the cross.  Countless times He has been represented in that way, as a mortal human being of flesh and blood.  And then?

That is usually the end of our imagination.  In pictures of the risen Christ we mostly see helpless efforts to express the unimaginable in earthly forms and colors.

That is not necessary, for once in His life He showed Himself in his true, immortal form—during the Transfiguration on the mountain.  “And He was transformed before them. His countenance shone like the sun, and His garments became shining white like light.”  That is the immortal Christ who comes to appearance in the mortal human being Jesus for a moment.  Above the infinite loneliness of the Passion stands the infinite consolation of the Redeemer.

That which once came to appearance in Christ is a distant, promising future for us humans.  In the words of the Apostle Paul:

“… we shall all be changed, in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet.” (1 Cor.15:52, RSV)

Maybe we should learn to view each human being in that way.  For behind the mask of our earthly personality hides another human being.  Once in a while we see a glimpse of this new human being in the sheen of the eyes, in a radiant face, or in a gesture of love.  At such moments we suddenly realize: This is the real you.

In our deepest essence, every human being longs to be known, to be revealed, to come to appearance—freed from the enchantment of our perishable existence.

-Rev. Bastiaan Baan, March 16, 2025

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“You are released from your illness.” (Luke 13:12)

When we read about the countless healings in the Gospels, sooner or later the question will arise: why at that time, and not today?

Just like at that time, when Jesus was living on the earth, there are lots of sick people in our time, bent and weak, deformed, paralyzed, possessed—and no one is able to heal them as if by magic. Jesus, however, only needed to look to come to a diagnosis at first glance, give a therapy, and bring about the healing of body, soul, and spirit. For that reason it was said of Him: “He has taken our sickness from us; He has borne all our infirmities.” (Matthew 8:17)

But now? Is He still healing? Or is He leaving us alone with our illnesses? Or are we so hardened and ill that He cannot reach us anymore? Or are we now supposed to bear our illnesses and weaknesses ourselves?

When you wonder how in the world in which we now live Christ deals with our illnesses and weaknesses, the Consecration of the Human Being has a very different answer to these questions. “Sickness of sin” is what the altar service calls the illness we all suffer from. That is an illness that has left its traces in the corporeality of humanity. In our Creed, it seems as if the sickness of sin was already healed by the spirit with the birth of Jesus. Only, that is no healing by magic, neither is it a healing from one day to the next, but hope for a far future. “They may hope for the overcoming of the sickness of sin…” says the promise of the Creed.

We may be ever so sick when we stand before the altar, the medicine that makes whole can permeate us so that in the core of our being we become perfectly healthy—even if we are mortally ill. This is why from the earliest days of Christianity the meal of bread and wine was called pharmakon athanasias, meaning medicine of immortality.

When we then, strengthened by the medicine that makes whole, pass from life into death, He will say also to us: “You are released from your illness.”

-Rev. Bastiaan Baan, February 23, 2025

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Gospel Reading 2024-25

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Judgment

Many people, perhaps even all of us, have a deeply rooted tendency to judge other people by their outer appearance.  When we walk through a city, we look all the time either with sympathy or antipathy at people and pass judgments.  We haven’t even really seen them, spoken with them, met them, and we have our judgments ready, read off their clothes, their outer get-up, facial expression—all those fleeting impressions that can’t really tell us anything essential.

Imagine how God looks at these people.  What does He see?  The proverb says: For God all human beings are equal.  That is almost unimaginable for us.  His love is not limited to a little bunch of favorites.  Every creature bears a precious treasure, even if it is hidden far away or perhaps even buried.  In spite of this, every human being can dig up this hidden treasure and bring it to light.  For God it makes no difference whether it is a gift from rich talents or from deep poverty.  Even when I think: I have nothing—I can still offer Him the present moment.

We try to do that at the altar: to be totally present, from moment to moment.  And although we never completely succeed in this, God sees our efforts.  For each single moment can become a royal gift for Him, offered from our pure thinking, our loving heart, our willing devotion.

That is why for God all human beings are equal, because in each of us slumbers a hidden king with a hidden treasure.

 

–Rev. Bastiaan Baan, January 16, 2025

 

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