Changeless

Wednesday in the Second Week of Lent

O Lord, your word is everlasting;
it stands firm in the heavens.
Psalm 119:89

Looking up into the night sky on my way home, I am surprised by the radiance of the moon—I did not realize it was a full. For a moment I feel out of time, as if I have lost my sense of the measure of days and weeks, as I have lost track of the changing moon.

Then it occurs to me that it is an untruth that the moon wanes and waxes, that it diminishes and then increases it presence to fullness and then lessens again. In fact, the moon is always present, always complete. It is our experience of it that changes. It is the dance of sun and earth and moon and light waves that affect our perception.

I also lose track of God’s benevolent presence in my life. I go about my day as if I am in charge of the world and then an unexpected encounter calls me back to the divine —a word of affirmation from a friend, a stranger’s act of compassion, a glimpse of the luminous full moon through the bare branches of a tree. And I feel myself comforted and reminded of the changelessness of the Holy One.

Whether barely perceived or ignored or embraced head on, God’s love abides.

Gaze and balance

Tuesday in the Second Week of Lent

God alone is my rock and my salvation,
my stronghold, so that I shall not be greatly shaken.
Psalm 62:2

“Remember,” my friend texts, “our balance is tied to our gaze.” Balance tied to gaze—I ponder the truth of these words. How often have I focused on those things that make me fretful, only to experience my whole life thrown off balance? When I look at the ground, I see only the ground. When I allow myself to be distracted by events going on in the distance, or in the distant future, I cannot be mindful of what is right in front of me.

When I gaze on God, my rock, my salvation, my stronghold, I am reminded that even those things that shake me, cannot greatly shake me.

Leaning into mercy

Monday in the Second Week of Lent

Be merciful to me, O God, be merciful,
for I have taken refuge in you;
in the shadow of your wings will I take refuge
until this time of trouble has gone by. 
Psalm 57:1

As I begin my day, I cannot shake off a sense of unease, and discover a case of the ubiquitous Monday morning dread. The temptation is to give in to it, to allow it to take hold of me, to enumerate all that I have left undone over the weekend as proof that I deserve rebuke. An easy step in that direction will lead me down the path of listing all my faults in a well-rehearsed refrain and deliver me into the unforgiving swamp of despondency.

The enemy excels at subtle.

I throw out a prayer of gratitude for the discipline of the season, which invites me into self-examination and a heightened awareness of the temptation to surrender to sin; including the sin of denying the goodness that is within me. The gift of Lent is to teach me, again and again, not that I am faultless, but that God's mercy abounds.

I lean into the mercy on offer and wrap myself in the spirit of gentles that is available to me on Mondays and every day. And with that, I can smile and know that today will be filled with grace.



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Sacred vocabulary

Saturday in the First Week of Lent
Feast of St. Matthias

Restore us, O God of hosts;
show the light of your countenance, and we shall be saved.
Psalm 80:3

With a sense of relief, and perhaps a bit of wisdom, I decide not to fit one more thing into my day. Rather, I give myself the time not to rush. I allow for the luxury of an extended conversation with a wise friend, a walk in the rain, thoughtful research into a topic I've been pondering. And in doing so, I become aware of being in the hands of holy restoration.

God does not call us to be consumed. Not by work, or worry, or good deeds. God calls us into relationship to sustain us, nurture us, encourage us to live into the goodness within us. To save us.

Restore. Replenish. Repair, rebuild, recondition. Redeem. These are verbs of sacred vocabulary, acts of mercy, words of prayer, the tools of God's love.



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Call and Response

Friday in the First Week of Lent

Let all who seek you rejoice and be glad;
let those who love your salvation continually say,
“Great is the Lord!”
Psalm 40:17

“I hope you have fun today,” I call out to my daughter as she heads out the doorway to school. She has a science Olympiad today.

“Thank you,” comes her reply, “I think I will.”

It is almost a song between us, a call and response. This morning it rings with a joyful tone, as we both lean into the day with a sense of pleasant expectation. Not all mornings are like this—either of us can be grumpy, or tired, or running late. Some mornings I miss greeting her altogether; but on those days, I send her a text, a love note that miraculously connects us even as we are separated by distance and culture and age.

Call and response. Seeking and connection. This is also my relationship with the Holy One. A song, a dance, a conversation, a love note. And as Lent calls me to deepen my union with Christ through prayer, and fasting, and soul searching, and repentance, I am mindful this morning that this path is one of joy as well as discipline.

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Holy And

Thursday in the First Week of Lent

Be still, then, and know that I am God;
I will be exalted among the nations;
I will be exalted in the earth.
Psalm 46:11

I hear the rain as it splatters against the house. I can almost count the drops as they hit the window with random percussion, and as I become aware of the individual strikes, I notice the space in between the drops as well. Even when rain comes in a downpour, it is made of individual droplets. And droplets get their definition from the air around them that is not a part of them. And I can hear them because of the time that exists before and after each drop.

Matter and space. Movement and stillness. Measured time and eternity. Ephemeral impact and perpetual presence. And.

God sends the rain and is in the rain and is in the space that surrounds each droplet. God is in all and is all. God is on either side of the and, and in the and as well.

As I leave the house, I lift up my face to receive the blessing of life-giving water kissing my cheek. A holy reminder that in my stillness and in my movement this day, God is with me.

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Bemused tranquility

Wednesday in the First Week of Lent

This is my comfort in my trouble,
that your promise gives me life.
Psalm 119:50

The morning fog envelops the city landscape, softening hard edges, quieting creation. It’s as if the Holy One has chosen to usher in this day, with all its tasks and expectations, with a bemused tranquility.

Hold the day lightly. These words become the refrain to my prayer. Hold the space lightly. Hold it all lightly. Work. Relationships. Encounters. Obligations. Loves. Losses. Possibilities.

Hold the day as lightly as if it were a newborn in my arms, a dewdrop on my fingertip, a gently uprooted plant in my hands on its way to new soil. As God holds me. So gently that I am often unaware of the strength of those sacred hands. And with such fierceness that nothing can pry me from her grasp.

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Familiar disorientation

Tuesday in the First Week of Lent

God is our God for ever and ever,
and shall be our guide for evermore.
Psalm 48:13

In the darkness and rain I head toward home, along a route that I have driven many times over the years. Yet all at once I feel out of place and have no idea where I am. These streets should be recognizable, the way familiar. But the sense of displacement, of being lost, engulfs me.

I have not taken a wrong turn. I have not strayed from the path. I force myself to pay attention to my surroundings. Doesn't this intersection look right, don't I always pass this school, isn't that convenience store just up ahead? Perhaps it is the distortion brought on by the darkness and the rain that unsettles my perception. Or perhaps it is something more.

The Lenten journey can also disorient me, even though it is a familiar way with recognizable landmarks. Moments of bewilderment and confusion call for renewed attention. They push me toward revitalized discernment, and a rekindled reliance on God, my true guide.

I continue my drive. And though I am called up short a few more times along the way, I remind myself that I am not lost, not at all, and I arrive home safely.




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Learning curve ball

Monday in the First Week of Lent

But I am like a green olive tree in the house of God;
I trust in the mercy of God for ever and ever.
Psalm 52:9

I look down at my hands, noticing with some surprise the wrinkles and blotches and loose skin. Of course these are not a young person’s hands, I have to remind myself. These are hands that have been around the block, raised children, done a lot of heavy lifting.

Some days I forget that I am middle-aged. I see my children and the children of others grow and mature but somehow think of myself as standing still in time. Not because I want to remain young, but because I don’t feel particularly wise or proficient, and am continually looking up to others who are older and wiser than I am. In this tug of war with time and maturity, sometimes I am at peace with what I do not know and encounter my limitations with calm, and other times I want to get it all right already.

My lifelong formation in Christ is just that—lifelong. I will always be on a learning curve, will forever be finding new insights along familiar paths, will constantly be confronted today with what I did not understand yesterday. Along the way my body will necessarily diminish. But what will not diminish is God’s love for me, God’s call for me, and the infinite ways in which I can respond.

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Sacred disequilibrium

Saturday after Ash Wednesday

Send out your light and your truth, that they may lead me,
and bring me to your holy hill
and to your dwelling.
Psalm 43:3

There is a racket outside my window this morning; I see a couple of birds flitting back and forth from a tree to the corner of our roof and suspect they are once again building a nest in one of the gutters. Can it be that time already? I look more closely at the tree and notice the buds.

I’m not sure I am ready to commit myself to the advent of spring. I am still in my winter mode, programmed to bundle up, be on the watch for icy patches on the walk, stay close to home on cold, dark evenings.

But the difference in the light, both morning and evening, signals that the we are already in the transition to the next season. There is no control button, I realize. No moment when we turn a switch so winter ends and spring begins. Neither is this conversion a smooth transfer from one period to the next; rather it is a riotous journey with unpredictable weather and conflicting signs and disequilibrium.

Nevertheless, spring will arrive in all its fullness and creation will continue to unfurl with abundant life. In this seasonal changeover, in all times of transition, what is steady is the light of God, the presence of the Holy, which continually calls me to come along the sacred way.

Claimed

Friday after Ash Wednesday

Into your hands, I commend my spirit,
for you have redeemed me,
O Lord, O God of truth.
Psalm 31:5

Already redeemed. The price has already been paid. This is the realization that smacks me in the face as I pray a psalm that I have prayed before. How many times? Hundreds? How often have these words been on my lips in daily prayer, or spoken or recalled in worship? And today is the day the cry of the psalmist, who first sang these words thousands (thousands!) of years ago, slips past my guard and touches my soul.

And why would I armor myself against the love of God? Why have I kept this truth at arm's length, the truth that I am worthy? Worthy of God's love. Worthy of other's compassion. Worthy of respect.

It may have begun as the smallest lie of the enemy, a whisper that crept into my heart and made a kind of wretched home there, sounding a decade's long undertone of discontent and ugliness and desolation. But it is a lie.

And the truth is God's love. The armor I need is the armor of light. When I fall, when I error, when I act horrendously, God lays before me the way home-the path of remorse, confession, and repentance. God is always calling back to where I belong, because the Holy One has already claimed me.




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Be strong. Be Brave.

Thursday after Ash Wednesday

Our steps are directed by the Lord;
he strengthens those in whose way he delights.
Psalm 37:24

As I look up from my morning prayer, I see the inspirational icon across the room displaying the words “Be strong.” In my office, a painted rock on the bookshelf reminds me to “Be brave.” Be strong, be brave. Is this my mantra for the Lenten walk?

I have been thinking about strength lately, the kind of strength that is not about being powerful and rigid. The kind of strength that comes from practice and discipline. Not a tremendous display of force that comes out of the blue, but capacity that builds bit by bit as I walk with Christ. Spiritual vigor that gains definition as I practice daily prayer and awareness, like the physical muscle that increases as I work out at the gym.

It is tempting to admire the super-hero-might that sweeps in to save the world and impress others. But in my heart, I know that committing to the way in which the Lord delights engenders a different kind of steady strength. Strength that is nurtured by a slow warm up, healthy nourishment, the direction and encouragement of others, and times of rest. Strength that is flexible. Endurance that is not about powering through, but about honoring vulnerability.

And this leads to bravery. Having the courage to trust in the slow and steady, to rely on others, to remember who is the savior of the world, to have faith in the One who calls me into this journey.

Be strong. Be brave. Belong to God.

Dust in your hands

Ash Wednesday

My spirit faints within me;
my heart within me is desolate.
Psalm 143:4

In your hands
  the dust of the earth became

The dust of which I am made
seeks you
thirsts for the living water of your touch
yearns to be washed clean and formed anew

In your hands
   the caverns of the earth
   the heights of the hills
   the dust of the world and of my heart

In your hands
   my best and my worst self

In your hands of love




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