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.