Exuberance

Friday after Ash Wednesday

Be strong and let your heart take courage,

   all you who wait for the Lord. 

Psalm 31:24

The extreme cold seems to have brought with it silence and stillness, as if it has us all in a kind of chokehold. Nothing moves in the early hour. Even the fierce wind has abated and I imagine the neighborhood around me holding its breath, not daring to step out into this arctic morning.

Then, braving the deathlike chill, a chirping bird.

I cannot see him, but I know he is tiny. One of those sparrows whom God loves. And I am in awe of the vulnerability of that small warm body singing sweetness and exuberance into this frozen landscape.

How can I not be encouraged by such cheerfulness?

The sun begins to shine, its brightness a gift against the harsh cold and I find strength to face into the day knowing that these signs of God’s presence are to be found all along the way.

The Quality of Light

Thursday after Ash Wednesday

Take delight in the Lord,

and he shall give you your heart’s desires.

Psalm 37:4

Already the quality of the light has begun to change. My morning commute no longer begins in pitch black, and the days are clearly lengthening. As I crest a hill in my evening drive I encounter a twilight I haven’t seen for months. The bare trees silhouetted against the copper horizon stretch the tips of their branches into a sky that is already disappearing into midnight blue as one lone bright star heralds the coming night.

Of course, the light has been changing for weeks. But now I see. Now I notice and take in the promise. In the midst of the bleak and deadening cold, emerge the inevitability of spring and the assurance of new life. 

And as I delight in the horizon and the trees and the colors and that one bright star, my heart expands to encompass God’s glory. In my soul, too, the light had begun to change. Now is the season for paying attention. Now is the time to traverse the wilderness. Now is the hour to remember what God can do with dust.

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Ash Wednesday

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

The flakes float feather-like. Caught in the light, they are suspended for a breath by illumination before they continue their soft inevitable fall. More like dandelion clocks in a late summer breeze than frozen water crystals. I stand still, my morning progress impeded by their impossible splendor.

For the most part, the snow this year has not been gentle. I have been keeping my head down, dodging chips, flecks, slivers of icy sleet that come hurling at me, flung in my path in a kind of assault. But this playful snowfall calls me to look up and out and take to heart the outrageousness of God who delights in the individual intricacy of each impossible flake.

Impossible too is this morning’s path of contrition, lament, and penitence. But it is with relief, finally, that I step onto the road where I can only discover that I am nothing but dust. As dust I do not have to travel with my head bowed, fighting against the bitter wind of disappointment and failure. As dust I lie waiting to be gathered up into the breath of God. As dust I am ready to be made new.

Flakes of ash brush my cheeks as I lift my forehead to be marked. Flakes of promises made and promises broken. Flakes of forgiveness. Flakes of hope. Flakes of impossible love.

On the Move

Excerpt from a sermon preached at the Church of the Good Shepherd, Scranton PA

on February 8, 2015

Isaiah 40:21-31

Mark 1:29-39

How did you get here this morning? What life circumstances, what twists and turns, what challenges and promises and hopes compelled you to choose this? How has your life in Christ led you to this moment? Whether you have grown up in this place or walked in the door for the first time, whether you have grown up in the church or felt called to it in later life, or stumbled into it along the way, you will discover, or have already discovered, or know deep in your heart that the Christian life is not about staying in one place—no matter how comfortable that place can be.

Jesus begins his earthly ministry on the move. Baptized by John in the Jordan, he is immediately driven by the Spirit into the wilderness. From there he passes along the Sea of Galilee calling to Simon and Andrew who immediately leave their nets and follow him. Farther along he immediately calls to James and John who also follow. They head right into Capernaum where Jesus teaches in the synagogue astounding all with his wisdom and before you know it they are at Simon and Andrew’s house and Jesus doesn’t stop even then. Simon’s mother-in-law is ill and Jesus wastes no time in raising her up and once she is healed she immediately begins to serve others.

When Jesus raises her up it is a significant moment. It is a resurrection act. The same words are used for Jesus when he is raised up from the dead. And this resurrection act engenders service and healing. The woman immediately serves others, which after all is the ministry of Jesus. And then Jesus multiplies this act by healing many, many others who come to the house that day.

But what happens next is also astounding. The next day, Jesus gets up before the busyness of the day, goes out to a deserted place away from everyone else, and prays. He spends time with God. He takes time for reflection and renewal. And when they come looking for him, he does not return to the house where everyone is searching for him and where certainly there are more people to be healed. Instead he says, let us go on to the neighboring towns so that I can proclaim the message there also. For this is what I came out to do. Jesus’ gifts and ministry will be multiplied because he chooses not to stay in one place and heal those who come to him, but rather to goes out and beyond. I am reminded of our own Baptismal Covenant which calls us to seek out people in order to serve.

The Christian life is not about staying in one place. Jesus travels, raises up, heals the sick, steps aside in solitude to pray, and then moves out and beyond to carry healing to more. It is this movement that I find compelling: that ministry is followed by renewal and regrouping and then going forth, going out, taking the show on the road rather than staying in one place and doing all the good work there is to do.

The Christian life is hardly about the status quo. It is not about figuring it out and then settling in. It is always about moving on and proclaiming the gospel. Let us go on to the neighboring towns so that I can proclaim the message there also, for this is what I came out to do.  We are called to place ourselves in the loving hands of Jesus and step out. We are called to raise up the downtrodden, to serve others, to engage in acts of healing, to cast out darkness, to place ourselves before God and be renewed, and then to go—to go out and beyond.

God is hardly the champion of the status quo. Have you not known? Have you not heard? Our God is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth, who numbers the stars and knows them all by name. God does not faint or grow weary and God’s understanding is unsearchable.  Youths will faint and be weary, the young will fall exhausted, but those who wait for the Lord, those who place themselves in the hands of the living God, they shall renew their strength. They shall mount up with wings like eagles, they shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint.

Place yourselves in the loving hands of Jesus. Raise up those who are downtrodden. Engage in acts of healing. Cast out darkness. Place yourself before God and be renewed. And then go. Go out and beyond. Go forth and proclaim the Gospel. And expect God to be at work in your life—to strengthen you when you faint, to raise you up when you fall, to call you into spiritual growth beyond where you last lay your head and into a lifelong relationship of transformation and love.    

Christmas Day

This is the irrational season
when love blooms bright and wild.
Had Mary been filled with reason
there’d have been no room for the child.  

Madeleine L’Engle, “After annunciation” in The Irrational Season.









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Christmas Eve

God is our refuge and strength,
   a very present help in trouble.  Psalm 46:1

I finally leave the office store after a complex series of unbelievable but absolutely predictable setbacks. Because of course I am not the only one who waited until today to mail a Christmas package. But rather than feeling overwhelmed, I am buoyed by a sense of ease.

Because somehow or other, we all kept our cool. The man who stepped aside as I was reaching for something on the shelf behind him and apologized if he was in my way. The young woman who patiently explained to me that I had packed my gift into the wrong kind of mailing box. The store manager who waved me into a shorter check-out line, but then missed putting one of the items into my bag and had to perform the transaction all over again. And me. Somehow I did not let anxiety win out.

I feel we are all being gentle with one another. It is as if we all see and acknowledge the stress we are under, and in the face of it each of us has decided to try a little bit harder to be gracious. 

And as I move on into the evening, the grace continues to be manifest. In the man in the parking lot, who smiles and waits until I get into my car before getting out of his. In the driver who slows and nods at me, allowing me merge. In the cashier at the fast food drive-through who gifts me with an unsought compliment. 

It is as if for this evening we each realize how fragile we can all be, and that we need to treat each other tenderly. As if a blanket of grace has fallen over the city like fresh snow, quieting it. As if we have all agreed to be kind to one another. As if we realize our actions actually can make the world a better place.

I am grateful for the gentleness as I prepare to meet the One who is gentleness. Who invites us to bring our heavy burdens, and replace them with refreshment. Who is humble in heart and promises rest for our souls. Who is waiting to be born anew into the world and into our hearts. Who is already present.



Copyright Anne E. Kitch 2014

Tuesday of the Fourth Week of Advent

Collect for the Fourth Sunday of Advent
Purify our conscience, Almighty God, by your daily visitation,
that your Son Jesus Christ, at his coming, may find in us a
mansion prepared for himself; who lives and reigns with you,
in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever.
Amen.     (The Book of Common Prayer, p. 212)

“I can hardly make a little corner in my heart ready for Jesus, much less a mansion,” I comment as my daughter lights the fourth candle on our Advent wreath and leads us in the final Advent collect.

“I’m with you on that,” my husband responds.

A mansion? How have I not heard or heeded those words before? I have lived with the Advent collects for most of my life and we pray them at our dinner table during this season. But now I am caught up short. I have certainly thought about (and even written and preached about) making room in our hearts for Jesus. But clearly my imagination was too small. I hardly envisioned a great expanse of space, beautiful and elegant, clean and carefully tended, exquisitely appointed.

I carry the image with me into the evening somewhat dazed by the revelation. A mansion?  But then, what was I thinking? That Jesus would be content dwelling in a nice cozy corner of my heart?

The Savior of the World will need a much bigger space. 

And there it is. I hear anew the Word who has been speaking love into my core from the beginning. My heart breaks open, exposing a widening landscape allowing for the possibility of more of God than I had ever imagined.




Copyright Anne E. Kitch 2014