Announcing Expectant!

Publication of my new book
Available from Church Publishing
https://www.churchpublishing.org/expectant

In the spirit of expectancy, these meditations focus on seeking and seeing God in the everyday of ordinary lives based on a psalm that corresponds to the daily office for the season of Advent.

 “Anne Kitch hears the still small voice beneath the roar of everyday life. In Expectant, a quiet, poetic, meditative, and accessible book, she tells you what she has heard, and shows you, by example, how to listen.”
––Sean Rowe, eighth bishop of the Diocese of Northwest Pennsylvania

“These small bite-size nuggets of spiritual wisdom allow us to comprehend what the mature life of faith lived out over a lifetime has to offer us.”
––Sylvia Sweeney, dean and president of Bloy House, The Episcopal School at Claremont

“Walking with Anne and the psalmist in this season of holy expectation offers us a luminous, numinous experience as we wait in vigilant hope for the coming of Jesus.”
––Peter M. Wallace, producer and host of “Day1” and author of Getting to Know Jesus (Again): Meditations for Lent

“Anne Kitch crafts an Advent calendar to enlighten predawn darkness, carry through the day, and ponder well into the winter night.”
––Sam Portaro, former Episcopal Chaplain to the University of Chicago and Director of Brent House, author of Sense and Sensibility: A Lenten Exploration


ANNE E. KITCH is a priest, educator, writer, and speaker whose work is grounded in the conviction that God's grace arrives in the everyday. Kitch currently serves as the rector of St. Luke’s Church in Phillipsburg, New Jersey. The author of The Anglican Family Prayer Book, Taking the Plunge: Baptism and Parenting, Preparing for Baptism in the Episcopal Church, and the popular What We Do in Church series for children, she publishes online meditations at sacredstumbling.blogspot.com.

Alleluia!

Easter!

Now is the time
to let your alleluia’s ring

alleluias of thanksgiving
alleluias of joy
alleluias of triumph

alleluias of renewal
alleluias of promise
alleluias of courage


Alleluia, Christ is risen!

Bereft

Holy Saturday

Will your wonders be known in the dark?
or your righteousness in the country where all is forgotten?
Psalm 88:13

A morning that does not dawn
in grief-laden hearts

A day where promised love is bereft
of any power to breach the darkness

A landscape for the forgotten

Pierced

Good Friday

My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?
and are so far from my cry and from the words of my distress?
Psalm 22:1

Such a small thing
a thorn

that pierces
the fabric of the world
rending hearts and hopes

leaving tatters

The way ahead

Maundy Thursday

When my spirit languishes within me, you know my path;
in the way wherein I walk they have hidden a trap for me.
Psalm 142:3

This way lies abandonment and loss

This way proffers anguish
and silence in response to entreaty

This way is perilous and impassable
and the way that must be traveled

This way begins with vulnerability
and compassion
and feet that have been bathed with love










Image Copyright : Олена Сушицька

Enemy territory

Wednesday in Holy Week

Turn you steps toward the endless ruins;
the enemy has laid waste everything in your sanctuary.
Psalm 74:3

The path also wends its way
into the ruins
of misplaced hopes
and distorted vision
and arrogant sinfulness

Now is the time to let these burdens drop--
to abandon them
in the enemy’s territory
and keep walking

For even here
the promise of new life
manifests in the foreground

The only way forward is through

Protected

Tuesday in Holy Week

Depart from me, all evildoers,
for the Lord has heard the sound of my weeping.
Psalm 6:8

even now
as the savior’s way wends toward the collapse of all
even so, the holy one heeds my voice
compassion is at hand
and my protector, my shield, my hope

my tears fall, hitting the ground, soaking into the well-trod path
where they are nevertheless gathered
and remembered

I do not walk alone








Image Copyright : hikrcn 

Snares

Monday in Holy Week

For I know my transgressions,
and my sin is ever before me.
Psalm 51:3


once again, I stumble
familiar faults, familiar wrongdoings, familiar confessions

Predictable, the snares of the enemy
Needful, my assent to the work of forgiveness

all this I lay before me on the path that now unfolds
that must be traveled
that leads to the crux of it all

Passing shadow

Saturday in the Fifth Week of Lent

We are like a puff of wind;
our days like a passing shadow.
Psalm 144:4

The warmth of the sun pierces through the nippy spring air and I lift me face to its caress. I know this will be a brief moment, and sure enough a cloud scuttles across the sky and I pull my sweater closer around me to ward off the chill. This too is momentary; the shadow passes, and the warmth of the sun returns.

In the dance of sun and cloud, warmth and coolness, seasons and eras, I am a single gesture, making the smallest of marks and then gone. A reverie perhaps.

Yet if I am but a smallness, let me be a nod of recognition, a slow smile of encouragement, a wave of welcome, an open hand of love.

The Lenten path had led me here, once again. On the cusp of all that will come next, I take a breath and allow myself to be carried forward, a passing shadow, but nevertheless one that will not be lost in God’s redeeming love.


Image Copyright : Peter Vrabel 

Seeking a clean sweep

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 look at the clock and am surprised by the time. How did two hours already go by? I think I have been at prayer all this time, but that is clearly not the case. I do a quick inventory of my morning: I got up, I searched the internet for a needed resource, I made tea, I put away the clean dishes, I watched a video I discovered in my search, I thought about how to plan out the work ahead of me, I looked for and found some old files, I sat down to pray, I searched the internet some more, I journaled, I gave thanks, I drafted emails in my head, I read scripture, I caught up on social media, I set out to write.

I thought my morning had been focused, but my path so far this day has been round about, with starts and stops and detours. How will I ever make my way across the wilderness in this fashion? How can I possibly stay connected to God when I am searching in all the wrong places?

So many voices call out to me and I’m not even aware of how distracted I am. I know that now is the time to listen to one voice, to set aside what is not important and not allow false urgency to pull me off course. If I am to find my way with any sense of grace, I need to trust in the one who knows the way, who is the way.

I lift my soul to God and pray my savior will sweep away all that clutters the way ahead.


Image source: Copyright : rawpixel 

Glory

Thursday in the Fifth Week of Lent

I cry out to you, O Lord;
I say, “You are my refuge, my portion in the land of the living.”
Psalm 142:5

The bright April sun tugs at my heart, calling me to the outdoors and I set out on an unhurried trek. It seems as if it has been ages since I had to time for a good, long walk. But this day has offered a gracious window of time and I enter it with relish.

The spring has been busy the past few weeks since I have been out this way. New growth is everywhere to be appreciated. I had seen some magnolias beginning to bloom as few days ago as I drove past with no time to stop. I resolved then to walk this way before the moment of outrageous blossoming was gone.

As I walk, I feel restored. As if the spring life all around me is within me as well. I cross a bridge and see the magnificent blooms ahead of me, inviting me to the party. I accept the summons, step beneath, and lift my face to the glory, anointed by petals set aloft by the light breeze.

God’s glory. My refuge. A full portion of love, new life, redemption.

Holy heart to heart

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

A voice has been nudging me all morning, and when I finally create the space to give it my full attention, I find myself transported into a holy dialogue. It’s as if I have stepped through a doorway into another landscape and suddenly I am on sacred ground. Clearly, it’s time for a heart-to-heart with my creator.

My conversation with God is just that—a conversation. It is two way. God calls to me and I strive to hear that call and respond. And I also call out to God. Often, I call out in distress. But I know it is important to also call out in love, in praise, in thanksgiving.

Call and response. As musical expression. As public discussion. As religious ritual. As a means of finding one’s way across the wilderness.

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Playful

Tuesday in the Fifth Week of Lent

Then was our mouth filled with laughter,
and our tongue with shouts of joy.
Psalm 126:3

Having picked up what I came for, I head for the store exit. Yet my way is slowed as I am tempted to wander down every side aisle. The bright colors and curious shapes and various textures call out to me of endless creative possibilities.

This craft store speaks to me of my girls growing up, of art projects and inventive endeavors and our desire as parents to inspire their imaginations. Even now, I find myself scanning the shelves full of stuffs thinking what might bring them joy.

It occurs to me that part of the allure of making things is that it offers a way of participating in God’s creation, and in the accompanying enjoyment, happiness, and holiness. Even in the wilderness, God calls us to playfulness.

Take courage

Monday in the Fifth Week of Lent

Be strong and let your heart take courage,
all you who wait for the Lord.
Psalm 31:24

The invitation comes in the middle of an impossible day, “Do you have time for a cup of tea?”

The answer on my lips is no. I am about to walk out the door. I have so much to do. I have already said no to other important things this day. But my heart knows better. An inner voice suggests that a time of rest and respite with a friend is just what I need in the midst of…all this.

I feel somewhat lost in the middle of Lent. I no longer remember exactly how the journey began, suspect I have been running in circles, am convinced I am making no progress whatsoever. Perhaps it is time to be still, take stock, see where I really am. My no becomes, “where shall we meet?”

We sit across from each other and lay our mutual lostness on the table, where it dissipates in the mist of steaming cups. Without speaking the words directly, we offer each other courage for the road ahead. Because it is clear not only that we have one another, but also that we are on God’s journey and in God’s hands.

Holy conversation

Saturday in the Fourth Week of Lent

Whoever is wise will ponder these things,
and consider well the mercies of the Lord.
Psalm 107:43

We sit in companionable silence. The afternoon is spring warm, a soft breeze caries the scent of fertile ground.

My father and I share the pleasure of being quiet. Even so, I am tempted to think I should fill the space with conversation. With news of the family or my day or current events. But as I let the stillness deepen, I realize there is a conversation going on. Together we ponder, reflect, muse. We look at one another and smile, knowing that to be quiet is fine. That listening to the birdsong, noticing the blue sky, and soaking up the sunlight is holy.

It is a gift to be in God’s creation together. “Very pleasant,” he comments. I nod in agreement. And we continue our mutual contemplation of God’s mercy.

Mercy trek

Friday in the Fourth Week of Lent

Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good,
and his mercy endures for ever.
Psalm 107:1

“It gets better,” my friend texts me. We have been sharing a struggle. Even though we are in different contexts, and separated by vast geography, we have run into the same spiritual roadblock. And like partners hiking a difficult trail, we have helped one another navigate this terrain.

Sometimes we offer one another practical advice and assistance. But more often we each give and receive compassion and understanding and encouragement. We remind each other of God’s goodness and that any current difficulty is not our whole story.

As we continue, we learn about the landscape and we learn about ourselves, our capacities and vulnerabilities and resilience. I am grateful for my traveling companion and how our explorations reveal more of the depth of God’s enduring mercy.


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Rest

Thursday in the Fourth Week of Lent

Answer me, O Lord, for your love is kind;
in your great compassion, turn to me.
Psalm 69:18

In the warm sun of the late spring afternoon I still myself. The week has been frenetic, and I need this break. Knowing how tasks at hand can lure me away from needed rest, earlier this week I committed myself to spending some time outdoors each day. A walk, a moment in the sun, a time to sit in the backyard.

Now, well into the Lenten journey, I engage this new practice and realize the freedom in adjusting course. After all, I do not belong to an austere God who insists I must go on as I started a month ago. Rather, I am cherished by One whose compassion absolutely knows no bounds.

Almost as soon as I have settled, I feel the difference, the beginning of restoration. Once again, I turn to the God who saves, and discover that God has already turned to me.

Ordinary sustenance

Wednesday in the Fourth Week of Lent

I will strive to follow a blameless course;
oh, when will you come to me?
I will walk with sincerity of heart within my house.
Psalm 101:3

In the middle of the day I take a break. I set the kettle on the stove to make a cup of tea, one of my small pleasures. I am preparing to take on the world.

Recently I have been trying to direct my heart and mind toward honoring the good around and within me. This is strategic—a way of combatting all that is wrong in the world. Without practice, simple acts of kindness toward myself can be overlooked. But if my body and mind and soul are to complete the Lenten journey, then intentional nourishment is necessary. I need to take care.

I focus on a task I could do without thinking, and I find myself transfixed by the bright red of the kettle, the feel of the warm mug in my hand, the soothing aroma of the tea, the comfort of my kitchen. Even before I take the first sip, I feel restored.

All along the way, any way, God offers sustenance. All along the way, any way, God is.

Unruly faithfulness

Tuesday in the Fourth Week of Lent

The Lord knows our human thoughts;
how like a puff of wind they are.
Psalm 94:11

For the umpteenth time I refocus on my prayer. Even though I have set this time aside and nothing else needs doing at the moment, my mind leaps from place to place as if it were a rubber bouncy ball. My thoughts are not just scattered, they are lured, tossed to and fro, unruly. Like the left over fall leaves swirled into chaos by spring gusts.

How is it that God still loves me, when I so often fail to pay attention to her omnipresent care? I can go through an entire day encountering grace after grace and not once lift my voice in prayer or praise or thanksgiving or even acknowledgment. I know what happens to relationships I neglect. How they become stale or fraught or just…less.

Yet the Holy One is always faithful. And each time I repent and turn back to the One who redeems me, I find welcome. Even now.


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Captured by the light

Monday in the Fourth Week of Lent

Your love, O Lord, for ever will I sing;
form age to age my mouth will proclaim your faithfulness
Psalm 89:1

The morning sun reaches through the blinds and casts a trail of light across the room. I am captivated by the pattern. The brightness seems to both bid me forward and invite me to pause.

My journey through Lent is like a journey through just about any week in my life. The landscape can be tumultuous, chaotic, uncertain, stressful and in its midst also tender solace, gentleness, compassion, kindhearted candor, resources for resilience.

And always on offer are moments for reflection, windows that let in the light so that I can not only see the way ahead, but can also be arrested by its advent and linger long enough to recognize the holy.



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