Sacrifice

Thursday in the Third Week of Lent

 

Truth shall spring up from the earth,

and righteousness shall look down from heaven.

Psalm 85:11

 

I look twice to be sure because I do not want it to be true. A large branch of the majestic maple tree in our backyard is touching the ground. Not quite broken off, nevertheless damaged enough that it will have to be removed. Cut off. Along its length, the smaller branches are already hosting their signature red buds.

 

I whisper an apology to this tree, words of sympathy even.  With its deep roots and strong trunk, it will survive the loss. But I mourn such a sacrifice in our world where every green plant with its precious contribution to the life of our earth is needed.

 

Yet even now persistent life is at work, as seeds already in the earth are being broken open so that tendrils can push through soil to reach the sun.

 

My Lenten journey includes unexpected loss and sacrifice, and mourning walks with me at times. And also, God watches over me, offering openings for me to reach for the light. 

Showing up

Wednesday in the Third Week of Lent

Sustain me according to your promise,
that I may live,
and let me not be disappointed in my hope.
Psalm 119:116

The conversation is lively as we gather on zoom, as this group has been doing each Wednesday morning for the past three and a half years. Born out of necessity, our healing prayer group has become a place of deep spiritual formation. We pray for those we know who are ill, those in our community who are in need, and the hurt in the world.

And we share our daily lives. We tell stories, we plan, we share news, we laugh. We sustain one another.

The healing we experience is all the more powerful because we know that we abide in the holy One. We have placed our trust in God, and it is that hope which keeps us showing up week after week. Showing up because of others, showing up for one another, showing up for God.

As I log off, I offer up a prayer of thanksgiving for this community of healing, my companions on this Lenten journey.

Manna in the desert

Tuesday in the Third Week of Lent

So mortals ate the bread of angels;

God provided for them food enough.

Psalm 78:25

I open my computer to work and am met with the low battery warning. I forgot to plug it in the day before. And now I am at home and my power cord is at work. Poor planning.

This can happen with my soul as well. I address one task after another, meet the needs of work and community, tend to family and friends, and forget to rest. Or, in truth, I resist my need to rest.

The satisfaction I get from working long and hard without stopping to recharge is a mirage in the wilderness. It is the enemy who whispers in my ear that I can do it all. By myself. It is God who provides manna in the desert.

I close my computer before it dies. The work it leads to can wait. I will take this moment to respond to the invitation to open myself to God’s care, to find solace and sustenance in the presence of the holy, and to remember where I find rest for my soul. 

Safe

Monday in the Third Week of Lent

Restore us, O God of hosts;

show the light of your countenance,

and we shall be saved.

Psalm 80:3

I quietly walk into the room and take my seat in the circle of people at prayer. They have kept a space for me, and as I join I feel the welcome. More than acceptance, what is offered here is belonging.

This leadership group has gathered for contemplation and visioning, and for restoration. Into this sacred space we place our struggles and challenges, our yearnings and hopes, our courage. All the while opening ourselves to the presence of the Holy One.

I see the light in the faces around me, and I sense the light within each person as well. Light that is a reflection of the Holy abiding in each of us. 

I sit in this circle of faith, and I feel whole. Restored. Ready. I sit in the presence of God and know this is where I am safe and saved. 

Out of focus

Saturday in the Second Week of Lent

O tarry and await the Lord’s pleasure;
be strong, and God shall comfort your heart;
wait patiently for the Lord.
Psalm 27:18

The awaited for crocus blooms expose a splash of purple in the midst of a cold rain. I had expected them to first reveal themselves to bright sunshine. Nevertheless, I stoop to take a picture, wanting to capture this first glimpse. Yet despite several tries, the flowers remain out of focus. It is the blade-like leaves that stand out sharply.

Unexpected too are the ways my Lenten path veers from anticipated directions. Things which I thought would be my focus fade into the background while what I presumed to be inconsequential captures my attention.

And I am reminded that the unforeseen is also in God’s hands. If I tarry, if I wait and see what is put in front of me, I am more likely to notice when God calls my attention. 

Weathering

Friday in the Second Week of Lent

I have grown weary with my crying;
my throat is inflamed;
my eyes have failed from looking for my God.
Psalm 69:4
 

Bright sunshine and bitter wind pummel me, competing for my attention as I cross the uneven ground of the yard. There is no path toward my destination, a piece of downspout that has been ripped from its place by the fierce gusts. I need to put it right, before it is blown out of my reach and beyond repairing.
 
This too is how my Lenten journey progresses at times, across uneven ways with no clear path as I seek to put right what has been torn asunder in my life, feeling still fierce reminders of the devastation of the past four years.
 
Yet even in this wilderness I can perceive the signposts of tenacious hope, determined resilience, defiant new life. My eyes may be weary from seeking, yet the Holy One is ever-present. My soul may be timid; the creative force of God is not. 

Distraction

Thursday in the Second Week of Lent

Your adversaries roared in your holy place;

they set up their banners as tokens of victory.

Psalm 74:4

The email alert banners scuttle across the top of my screen catching my eye every time. So much so, that my friend with whom I’m zooming asks me if I need to attend to them. Like when your phone rings and the person you’re talking with says, “Do you need to get that?”

Slightly abashed, I assure her it is nothing. But it is something. It is a distraction that I have allowed, an invited disruption that pulls me from the moment so that I am cheating her out of my full attention. And I have given this distraction power.

In how many other ways have I set myself up so that my attention is scattered?

I am not yet halfway through the Lenten journey. There is time. Time to focus. Time to pray. Time to scatter the distractions from my path and fix my attention on goodness, on friendship, on what is life-giving. On the Holy.