What am I doing

Saturday of the Third Week of Advent

Feast of St. Thomas

I lift up my eyes to the hills;

  from where is my help to come?

My help comes from the Lord,

  the maker of heaven and earth.

Psalm 121: 1-2

“What am I doing,” I whisper to myself in the pre-dawn. Having opened my laptop to complete a task, I immediately became distracted by the number of open files on my desktop and after taking care of a couple of them I can no longer remember what it was that I wanted to do.

What am I doing? This is probably an apt refrain as I head into the final week of Advent, which, in reality, is not a week but a few days. As the morning light increases, the angel on top of our family creche is revealed along with a backdrop of snow-covered trees that I had not expected. I didn’t know that yesterday’s sleet had become more substantial overnight.

What am I doing? What is God doing, is perhaps the better question. However else I spend these last few days of this season of expectation, I am reminded that I need to keep my attention focused on the Holy One. Who is ever active, always present, continuously redeeming heaven and earth.

Mastering getting ready

Thursday of the Third Week of Advent

Offer to God a sacrifice of thanksgiving

and make good your vows to the Most High.

Psalm 50:14

I sit in the quiet room in the late evening, the space lighted only by the Christmas tree. I allow the peace of the moment to sink in, comforting me like a well-loved blanket. 

It has been a good day, a day of preparation. Some presents wrapped. A package ready to be mailed to family far away. The kitchen cleaned, email dealt with, work projects wrangled.

The day has been wrapped in prayer as well, beginning with a morning healing prayer group and ending with bible study, a discussion of angels, and the courage to ask God to come among us with great might.

Now I pray again, thanking God for the fullness, the holy solace, the solitude and the community. I realize that, at this point in Advent, preparation has become my spiritual practice. I may never be ready; yet I have come close to mastering getting ready. And for this I am grateful.

Radiance

 Wednesday of the Third Week of Advent

O God, you are my God; eagerly I seek you;

my soul thirsts for you, my flesh faints for you,

as in a barren and dry land where there is no water.

Therefore I have gazed upon you in your holy place,

that I might behold your power and your glory.

Psalm 63:1-2

I must consciously breathe my way through the store, focusing on my list and not allowing my senses, and my soul, to be captured by all that is on offer. I can so easily become overwhelmed by commercial appeals, brightly colored items arranged attractively on shelves, and aisles that lead me to more stuff. I had thought this was going to be a one-stop trip. But I am now at my fourth store. And I’m getting cranky.

The enemy is always close at hand at the holy times, a friend tells me. Well of course. What better way to disrupt the peace brought by the one with healing in his wings than to lead us astray on our way to the manger.

I remind myself that the one who wants our joy to be complete can have nothing against stars and glitter and holiday cheer. After all, think of the magnificence that accompanied Jesus’ birth. An entire host of angels appeared to the shepherds! Just how many are in a host?

As I leave the store and step into the cold night, I see the radiance of the moon, just past full. Are angels hiding somewhere beyond that brightness, getting ready? I imagine a heavenly choir practice going on, a host preparing to light upon us in a week’s time, guiding all who seek to the glory of the incarnation. Again.

Slowly and silently

Tuesday of the Third Week of Advent

This God is our God for ever and ever,

and shall be our guide for evermore.

Psalm 48:13

I hear the hum of the washer and I see the fallen leaves from a house plant that need to be swept up and my list of things on today’s calendar runs through my head. Where is the sacred in all of this?

We have hurtled past the third Sunday of Advent and suddenly I am afraid I have missed the opportunity to envelope myself fully in this season. I want to surround my heart with expectant hope. I yearn for long stretches of contemplation on the miracle to come. I wish to slow down and savor the unfolding mystery of the incarnation that was and is and is about to be.

Just out of my sight, I know one of the houseplants is about to bloom. As it leans towards the window, its tiny buds stretch toward the winter sun, eager to soak up its energy. And there, I realize, is expectancy and hope. Slowly and silently this creation of God’s has been steadily divulging the ongoing mystery of new life.

God is here, always. And God guides me, scatters my daily path with direction and encouragement. The holy invitation to enter deeply into this Advent never expires.

Tasks

Monday of the Third Week of Advent

For I do not rely on my bow,

and my sword does not give me the victory.

Psalm 44:6

My brain is slow to kick into gear as I try to take care of important end-of-the-year administrative tasks. The problem with some of these is that I only do them once a year, and so I don’t remember the process. Which website? Which login? Do I still have that password?

I know that these tasks are worth my time, and that good administration supports fruitful ministry. And now, as I struggle to stay focused, I remind myself that even in this mundane work I can rely on God; in fact, I need to rely on God rather than solely on my own prowess.

Ultimately, my skills and knowledge come from God. I may have honed them, but God created me and gifted me and guided me.

I lean my head back so my face lifts heavenward and I offer thanks. The breath of God washes over me and I return to my tasks refreshed.

Dreamer

Saturday of the Second Week of Advent

Weeping may spend the night,
but joy comes in the morning.
Psalm 30:6

My morning coffee arrives in a large mug, steaming and beautiful. The café is warm, full of people and good smells and Saturday morning bustle. I sit solitary in the midst of this community, happy for the company that others probably don’t realize they are providing.

My coffee also comes with a message; “Idealist” is scrawled across the mug. Of course I see this as a sign. In the midst of this Advent, in the midst of this cold December, in the midst of God’s people, I am invited to see myself as a dreamer.

My breakfast companions have no idea whether my road has been smooth or troubled, and I know nothing of their sorrows and struggles and triumphs. Yet for this moment we share the way, and I will dream of a baby being born in our midst, crying out with new life, as this unknowing crowd witnesses salvation. 

A No Fret Zone

Thursday of the Second Week of Advent

Refrain from anger, leave rage alone;

do not fret yourself; it leads only to evil. 

Psalm 37:9

The fierce rains of yesterday have been replaced by fierce winds, causing the chimes in my backyard to sound almost riotous as if clamoring for my attention.

There is much competing for my attention right now so that I even overlook appointments that I placed on my calendar. The temptation is to fret about this, to try and cram everything in, as if Advent were a suitcase and I an overly ambitious packer.

I’m pretty sure fretting does not lead to the manger, and I know that worrying leads me astray. I have learned that the best approach to such clamoring is actually to be still. To do nothing. To listen. To wait. Only then will I be able to focus my attention on what is worthy.

No rush

Tuesday of the Second Week of Advent

The Lord is my strength and my shield; 

my heart trusts in him, and I have been helped;

Psalm 28:8

After a rush of morning engagements, the afternoon opens slowly before me with spacious time for the tasks at hand. I began the day with worry about how much needed to get done and the necessity to rush flustered me.

I take a moment to sit still, thanking God for the calmness. I remind myself that I have been here before. I know from experience that all will be well, and that if I approach things calmly, dealing with first one thing and then the next, I will not be overwhelmed. If only I can keep this in mind when I feel anxious.

Now, my day has been transformed from impossible-to-manage to one filled with grace. Even when my mind is pummeled by disquiet, my heart somehow still trusts in God.

Now

Monday of the Second Week of Advent

To you, O Lord, I lift up my soul;

my God, I put my trust in you;

let me not be humiliated,

nor let my enemies triumph over me.

Psalm 25:1

It is only the beginning of the second week of Advent and somehow I feel like I am already behind. In this season of preparation, there is so much to prepare for: the birth of a savior and a Christmas pageant. The redemption of the world and way too many bulletins. The embrace of holy mystery and next year’s budget.

“O God,” I pray, “do not let me be humiliated by failure in the bulletin department.” So many variables, so much room for error.

Yet, I also know there is no error in God’s love for imperfect humankind, no variability in God’s faithfulness. My life is all preparation, any given moment laying groundwork for the next. And when I am present in the moment, I cannot be ahead or behind. There is only now, and in any now God is ever-present.

Restfulness

Saturday of the First Week of Advent 

Turn again to your rest, O my soul.

for the Lord has treated you well

Psalm 116:6

I sink into the quiet of the pre-dawn morning, even as the comfortable sounds of the house blanket me: the hum of the humidifier, the rhythmic swoosh of the washer, the crackle of heat moving through the baseboards.

The familiar brings a restfulness even as my day begins. I settle into the everydayness of it all, grateful for the pattern of prayer that sustains me.

God is good and gracious. The mercy of the Almighty is everywhere for me to see, take note of, breathe in. Love is on the way. 

Hope cast long

Friday of the First Week of Advent

Show me your marvelous loving-kindness,

O Savior of those who take refuge at your right hand

from those who rise up against them.

Psalm 17:7

Although the outside air is held in a frozen grip, the morning sun urges heat through the window and over my face and shoulders. I am safe. I am warm. And my soul aches.

I feel loss. The loss of a friend and somehow the loss of certainty as well. I see the tops of the trees move in a wind that does not reach the stillness at their trunks. Likewise, the loving kindness of my savior is present, seen and unseen.

I must cast my hope long, beyond even this season of waiting. For now, I will hunker in the refuge of the knowledge that God has the world in hand and me as well. There is goodness beneath the frozen ground that will yet spring forth.

Might

Thursday of the First Week of Advent

God delivered me from my strong enemies

and from those who hated me;

for they were too mighty for me.

Psalm 18:18

As I scroll through my phone in the morning, checking my calendar, the weather, and my to-do list, I realize I am avoiding all my news feeds.  The world around me is so full of trouble, and my soul is so bruised, that I cannot bear even the headlines.

Growing up with two older brothers, I was always trying to prove myself, to compete with them, determined to show I could keep up and even win. My self-reliance has been a gift in my life. And it can lead me astray.

There are troubles in this word that I cannot solve, injustices that I cannot overcome. The enemy whispers in my soul that these are too mighty for me, and I will be destroyed.

This is a half-truth. They are too mighty for me. Yet I belong to a God who does not abandon me, and my strength rests in trusting the Holy One. I whisper a prayer and intentionally place myself in God’s hands as I wait for the infant who delivers us all.

The Practice of Yearning

Wednesday of the First Week of Advent

O God, you are my God; eagerly I seek you; 

my soul thirsts for you, my flesh faints for you,

as in a barren and dry land where there is no water.

Psalm 63:1

I wake to frost covering the yard, the cold of the season having finally arrived. The dusting of white is its own kind of barrenness, signaling, among other things, the need to bundle up before venturing outside.

Bundling up is also good preparation before venturing fully into the season of Advent. I want to wrap myself in comfy reflections and warm traditions to ward off the chill of a world which is not at all interested in the sweetness of newborn salvation. I want to hold my hope close to the warmth of my heartbeat and protect myself from cold indifference and the cruelty that seems to creep into daily life.

And so I remind myself that eagerly seeking God and yearning for the mystery of the incarnation are the practices that will sustain me. For now, they are enough.

Refuge

Tuesday of the First Week of Advent

But all who take refuge in you will be glad;

they will sing out their joy for ever. Psalm 5:13

We walk in the brisk cold, our bodies warming with the steady movement. The landscape of the trail is familiar, but not completely known, and we pause at each junction to discuss the way forward.

I soon become aware that the picture I have in my mind of the twists and turns of this path is faulty. The trail coils right and up when I expect it to curve left and down. And just how many times does it cross and recross the stream?

Yet even while I seem to have lost all sense of direction, I know where I am. The trail itself is a refuge, the stream singing glad psalms to the Holy One, the bare trees raising limbs in homage. I am safe in God’s sanctuary.

We reach the bottommost section of this trail and I pause in awe at the formation of icicles along an overhang, brilliantly protecting whatever lies within that mystical space. A refuge within a refuge. I know I stand on holy ground.

Wanted: A Shield

But you, O Lord, are a shield about me;

you are my glory, the one who lifts up my head.

Psalm 3:3

Advent has just begun and already I need to shield myself from the assaults of a world that is not at all headed toward the manger. Where is the tenderness I expect from a world of God's making? Is my confidence in the practice of hopefulness a fool's naiveté?

In worship yesterday, I entered this season of expectation in community. We lit the first candle. We prayed to cast away the works of darkness. We sang for love, the guest on the way. A child eagerly gathered up the materials to make her own advent wreath at home. A couple asked for a blessing of their 51 years of marriage. An elder warmly greeted the parents whose infant daughter will soon be baptized.

And I realize, once again, that it is God who shields me. The Holy One transforms this community into a sacrament and once more the ancient traditions feed and heal and nurture. I step out on the road in good company, and God lifts my face toward Bethlehem.

Be Bearers of the Light

A Meditation on The Feast of William Temple

November 6, 2024

Your word is a lantern to my feet

and a light upon my path. (Psalm 119:105)

I hear children on the athletic field
across from my house

laughing and shouting in warm sunshine.

I contemplate the twists and curves of the now-bare branches of the maple trees,

having been stripped of their final fall glory

by yesterday’s wind.

I linger in uncertainty;

the day and the laughter are bright,

creation offers beauty in bareness,

I am loved,

and I am afraid

I seek a path to walk.

Your word is a lantern to my feet

and a light upon my path.

I seek sure footing to move forward

with hope and joy and trust in God’s goodness.

I seek a way through familiar landscapes now obscured,

tendrils of shadows reaching to conceal and confuse

the way of love.

Your word is a lantern to my feet

and a light upon my path.

And I know with certainty

that the True Light,

which enlightens everyone,

came into this world,

is eternally coming into this world.

And I have been promised,

that God is at work in me,

that God is at work in you,

enabling us to choose goodness

and justice and dignity and compassion.

I have witnessed how that Light,

mingled sorrow and love

on a cross;

pouring salve on the world’s wounds

salvation for the broken

salvation for the contemptuous

salvation for the lost and lonely

salvation for the fearful

salvation for the hopeful

salvation for all

a redemption that can barely be imagined.

Your word is a lantern to my feet

and a light upon my path.

So once more I step out into the light,

the true light,

and I remember that I am also a light bearer--

we are light bearers.

We are light bearers for one another,

and we do not walk alone.

We are light bearers,

as life goes on.

We are light bearers,

dispensing compassion and diffusing hostility,

cradling the vulnerable and protecting the joyous,

binding up the broken-hearted and filling the hungry with good things.

We are light bearers.

We belong to God.

We give ourselves over to love,

over and over,

because Love so amazing, so divine,

demands our souls, our lives, our all.*

And that Love never lets us go.

* last stanza of the hymn When I Survey the Wondrous Cross

A Prayer for When Having a Day

Oh God,

Today has been a challenge.

Technology has gotten the best of me. Bureaucracy has tried my patience.

My attempts to right things seem powerless and, in the midst of my frustrations, I am led astray.

I reach out with bluntness rather than kindness,

harshness rather than compassion.

Call me back to the place of sanctuary within your loving goodness.

Remind me that yours is the power and the glory,

and that I am invited into your vineyard each and everyday.

To walk with you, work with you, wonder with you.

Release me from the snares of the enemy

and fill my soul with living water

until the troubles of this day fade 

and in the evening light I am left a child embraced in your loving arms. 

Anne E. Kitch

September 19, 2024

Good News and Governance

Jesus came proclaiming the good news of God’s reign. What did this good news look like? Freedom from oppression, renunciation of evil, healing of broken bodies and troubled souls, walking the way of love. As baptized Christians, our ministry is to follow the way of Jesus and to use the gifts God has given us to love others and be the good news in the world.

In the Episcopal Church, our Catechism, which is an outline of the faith, teaches us that part of the ministry of members of our church is to “take their place in the life, worship, and governance of the Church.” (The Book of Common Prayer p. 855).  Thus, Episcopalians consider governance a ministry. Good governance replaces oppression with justice, ensures a community cares for all its members, seeks to bring healing where there is brokenness, and provides stability so that the community flourishes. When we exercise the ministry of governance in the church, we strive to reflect the good news that Jesus brought to the world. We do not always succeed in this, and yet as a church we continue our efforts to walk in the way of love.

Deputy Kitch address the House of Deputies
Photo credit: Cynthia Black 2024

The governing body of the Episcopal Church is the General Convention, which consists of the House of Deputies and House of Bishops and meets every three years to take up the business of the church. I attended my first General Convention in 1979 as part of the youth presence. Last week, I attended my 6th  convention as an elected deputy from a diocese and served as chair of the House of Deputies Legislative Committee on Governance and Structure (LC03). I also completed my six-year term as a member of the Executive Council, the governing board of the Episcopal Church. I love the ministry of Church governance.

So, what did we do at the 81st General Convention? I want to highlight three actions of convention which make my heart glad. My deepest joy as chair of LC03 was facilitating the petition of the Navajoland Area Mission to become a missionary diocese. As a diocese rather than an area mission, Navajoland will be able to call its own bishop instead of having one appointed for them, and to choose someone who reflects the values, teachings, and traditions of the Diné.

I also helped draft a resolution concerning diocesan leadership in the diocese of Haiti. Many of you know that the Republic of Haiti is currently experiencing socioeconomic and political crisis. You may not know that the Episcopal Church in Haiti is our most populous diocese. They have been without a bishop since 2018. The resolution that LC03 perfected will give the diocese a way forward in solidifying diocesan leadership and electing its next bishop.

On the floor of convention, I participated in a unanimous vote (there were over 800 deputies present, so that is saying something) to change the language of our catechism concerning marriage so that it now states, “Holy Matrimony is Christian marriage, in which two people enter into a life-long union,” rather than specifying that marriage is between a woman and a man. This act ensures our teaching reflects our previous action from the 2015 General Convention where the Episcopal Church changed our canons to support same-sex marriage and the full inclusion of LGBTQ+ people in the life of our church.

In the end, the 81st General Convention processed 394 resolutions covering topics such as Prayer Book and Hymnal revision, amendments to our canons, statements on Israel and Palestine, approval of the churchwide three-year budget, and reforms to our disciplinary canons. Significantly, the House of Bishops elected, with the House of Deputies confirming, Bishop Sean W. Rowe as our next presiding Bishop.

As with any human institution, our church is imperfect. Nevertheless, I remain firmly committed to my ministry in governance, adding my spiritual gifts to the work of reforming churchwide structures and systems to best reflect the way of love.

Moment of Remembrance

Carleton College Reunion

Multi-Faith Service

June 16, 2024

What is a moment of remembrance? A moment can be the briefest bit of time. Or an exact point in time. Or even the appropriate time for doing something. And in the physics of time, a moment can be expansive.

And remembrance? To remember is to re-member, to take the members of a body and put them back together. A reunion itself is a kind of remembrance, as we gather again as members of a community that once was and reconstitute ourselves into the community of this moment. Carleton alums and friends and family and staff and faculty gathered together, members of one body.

And as we engage in this re-membering, we also bring into the now, into this moment, those whom we have lost. Some of their names are printed in the worship program for this morning. Other names we carry in our hearts. In naming them, we claim them. As part of this community, part of this body, part of who we are. This is the thing about being members of a community; we all impact each other. And that impact cannot really be measured.

What we do here today is important. And not just because we are honoring those whom we have lost, and making space for grief, and recalling friendships. But also because we acknowledge the breadth and strength and love of this community. A community that intentionally reaches into the past and pulls into this moment all of its members in order to be whole. And at some future time, we too will be re-membered and pulled forward.

When I was a Carleton student, you could often--very often--find me in the dance studio. I loved the time I spent there and the lasting friendships created in that space. And I like to think that what we are doing today is participating in an ongoing dance, connecting us to steps that have been laid down in the past, and creating momentum that is already reaching toward all who come next, inviting them to join.

There has been much to stir our memories these past few days. Stirrings that touch our hearts, and stirrings that mix past experiences into a now. And so in this now, in this moment, in this appropriate time, I invite you to light a candle for those you have lost, as together we remember.

Easter joy

Easter Day

Hallelujah!

Sing to the Lord a new song;

sing God’s praise in the congregation of the faithful.

Psalm 149:1

Mary Magdalen at the Tomb
Daniel Bonnell 2023
ink on grocery bag

Easter joy

is the joy that comes in the morning

after a night of weeping

and speaks to the deepest grief

Easter joy

is at first unrecognizable

and then speaks our name

and we are saved

Easter joy

unsettles the very foundations of the universe

and renews creation

Easter joy

commands us to go

compels us to proclaim

its breathtaking goodness

with every Alleluia!

The morning after

 Holy Saturday

Let my prayer enter into your presence;

incline your ear to my lamentation.

Psalm 88:2

the morning after comes

heavy

with the weight of death

the reality of grief

and shards of broken hope

the morning after

all has collapsed

into emptiness

to be filled

with lamentation

but not yet

now there is only silence

as time stops

and creation holds it breath

Emptying

Good Friday

My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?

and are so far from the words of my distress

Psalm 22:1

The emptying has begun

of expectation

of certainty

of false hope

empty altar

empty cup and plate

holy things

emptied

of purpose

cruel wind

emptying

bystanders

of compassion

a God

so far 

too far from the cry

blood and water

poured out

leaving a body

empty of life

Next

Maundy Thursday

I spread out my hands to you;

my soul gasps to you like a thirsty land.

Psalm 143:6

the next step

is irrevocable

the breath after that

a gasp

a choked cry

at the tenderness

displayed in the midst

of inevitable betrayal

the next heartbeat

pained by abandonment

and the fear

of all that comes

next

Gracious space

Wednesday in Holy Week

 

I would flee to a far-off place

and make my lodging in the wilderness

Psalm 55:8

The space around me is gracious

open

waiting

expanding into sacred time

which cannot be counted in minutes

hours or days

measured rather

by encounters

with faithful conversation

quiet confessions

the rhythm of worship

of preparation

I collect distractions

gather them up

then scatter them

set them aside

the final stretch of wilderness

a clearing

an emptying

making way

Tears

Tuesday in Holy Week

Depart from me all evildoers,

for the Lord has heard the sound of my weeping.

Psalm 6:8

My journey

approaches its end

from moment

to moment I step

from one terrain to another

The holy path

the ubiquitous

the oblivious

Each its own stream

claiming

my attention

my effort

I yearn to immerse myself

my thoughts

my focus

my aching soul

in the sacred 

where my weeping is heard

my tears kept and counted

Collapse

Monday in Holy Week

Give me the joy of your saving help again

and sustain me with your bountiful spirit.

Psalm 51:13

collapse

the entry point

the gateway

the threshold I cross into this holy week

the beginning of the end

collapse of time

the weeks of striving

the path ahead

disintegrate into now

collapse of the limits of human experience

from greatest expectation

to ultimate pain and loss

utter destruction of hope

all of it

collapses into tangled chaos

that will somehow end up

at the foot of the cross

where all

all of it

all of me

can be redeemed

Thirst

Saturday in the Fifth Week of Lent

My soul is athirst for God, athirst for the living God;

when shall I come to appear before the presence of God?

Psalm 42:2

The rain is irregular and unremitting, coming in bursts, downpours, trickles as the day progresses. Hardly steady and yet continuous.

It seems the perfect accompaniment to my Lent. My progress has not been steady. I have strayed, stumbled, sometimes balked. Yet I have continued.

And I will finish. I will complete the way. Honestly, at this point it is no longer a choice, not at all up to me. I have given myself over to the stream of events that will carry me to the foot of the cross. Because I know no other way.

I hear the rain once again roar into a deluge. And I feel thirst in my throat and body and soul, the yearning for completion, the longing for salvation, and the certainty that I am being drawn toward redeeming love. 

Days ahead

Friday in the Fifth Week of Lent

Let me hear of your loving-kindness in the morning,

for I put my trust in you;

show me the road that I must walk,

for I lift up my soul to you.

Psalm 143:8

I wake before the sunrise, yet there is a hint of the dawn to come. I pull the blanket around my shoulders immersing myself in warmth and savoring the comfort of the moment. I watch as the morning light arrives, the vivid orange of the horizon foretelling the brightness ahead and I smile as I realize my day will be illuminated by spring sunshine.

I have time to linger this morning. And I will have space in my day for an afternoon walk when I can take note of spring. I will listen to birdcalls, smell the damp earth, feel the temperature of the air vacillate between cool and warm. see new growth.

I will soak all of this up. The morning comfort, the bright cool spring, the holiness of creation. God will walk with me through this day, opening the path of life before me.

And God will be present in the days ahead as I walk the way of love and the way of the cross.  

Still

Thursday in the Fifth Week of Lent

But I still my soul and make it quiet,

like a child upon its mother’s breast;

my soul is quieted within me.

Psalm 131:3

I look at the date and realize that I have missed a deadline. At some point yesterday I remembered I needed to complete this task and I meant to add it to my list. Or one of my lists. Which at this point are out of control.

My desk is covered with post-its, along with a pile of written notes. I seem to add projects to the organizational app on my computer with greater speed than I complete them. And then there is that other list on my phone. 

I recognize this territory. This place in the wilderness where I fool myself into believing that I can control the impact of what lies ahead, that I can organize my way through the spiritual upheaval of holy transformation.

I have been here before and I know what to do. I stop doing. I quiet myself. I open myself to God’s presence. I linger. I sense a pool of tranquility expanding around me. And I wait.

Flourish

Wednesday in the Fifth Week of Lent

I call with my whole heart;

answer me, O Lord, that I may keep your statutes.

Psalm 119:145

I planted the seeds two weeks ago, and now the grass in my small indoor Lenten garden flourishes. First, I had to wait for the seeds to sprout and I wondered: was the soil good, did I give them the right amount of water, had I buried them to the correct depth? Then, I began to see spikes of green pushing up, reaching for the light. They seemed sparse, and I wondered if I had scatted enough seeds.

Now it is clear that they are fulfilling their promise.

And what about me? Am I ready to flourish? I have been buried deep in the soil and messiness of Lent. I have pushed my way through at times, reaching for the light. I have felt living water, holy water, crack the shell around my soul and bid me to break free.

For me to fulfill God’s promise, I must accept God’s promise.

There remain curves ahead as I set my face toward the completion of my wilderness trek. Passion and suffering, celebration and sorrow, uproar and silence await me. And I would choose no other way.

 

True light

Tuesday in the Fifth Week of Lent

My help comes from the Lord,

the maker of heaven and earth.

Psalm 121:2

I am about to delete the news email when a headline calls me up short, “Don’t bother turning off the lights when you leave a room.” My father drilled into us exactly the opposite. He would even walk through a room I was in and turn off the lights on me because the audacity of lights left on was more noticeable to him than me quietly reading in a corner. The article goes on tell me that my father’s command, while once important in an age of incandescent lightbulbs, is no longer valid.

My father’s insistence on this practice was both the result of his having been born in the depression and his sense of stewardship. He was careful about resources. He believed saving pennies made a difference. And he was clear that all that we have comes from God.

I learned respect for the environment from him, and the practice of tithing as a spiritual discipline. And I believe that my father knew in the depth of his soul that Christ is the true light, and that true help comes from God. 

Perhaps my father’s lightbulb practice no longer holds merit. Yet the faithfulness I absorbed from him continues to light my way.

Safe

Monday in the Fifth Week of Lent

Into your hands I commend my spirit,

for you have redeemed me,

O Lord, O God of truth.

Psalm 31:5

The spring day remains bright, and still I do not step out into the sunshine. I had planned to go for a long walk. Yet I feel wedded to the comfort of my chair and my soft sweatshirt and the throw on my lap. Leaving the safety of this snug nest seems beyond me.

At times, I find the upheaval of the pandemic years reasserts itself within my soul and I crave security and reassurance. The grief from that time is like a stream that sometimes trickles and sometimes floods it banks and often changes course. Today it is lapping at my toes.

I acknowledge the grief. I shake hands with it while at the same time stretching out my other hand to the One who saves me.

I know that God is my help and my salvation. I have experienced God’s love and mercy over and over again. In years past, and on this Lenten path. So now, I place myself once again into the hands of my savior and remember that I am already redeemed, already safe, forever loved.

Entrusting hope

Friday in the Fourth Week of Lent

 

Let all those whom the Lord has redeemed proclaim

the God redeemed them from the hand of the foe.

Psalm 107:2

 

Sweet sounds of the mandolin accompany my morning devotion. As I settle into prayer, my spouse’s music practice also acknowledges the sacred. The tune is Celtic, a bit mournful, a bit transcendent. A bit perfect for this moment in Lent.

 

Just as I am somewhat startled by the signs of spring, which seem to have arrived suddenly even though expected, I am surprised that I have come so far in my journey in the wilderness. I have stumbled many times in the past weeks; God continues to set my feet upon a sure path.

 

Acknowledging grief and mourning, sensing the mystical, recognizing my yearning for the holy, I entrust my hope to God’s mercy and step once again into the wilderness.