On account of love

Friday of the Fourth Week of Advent

Let all praise the name of the Lord;
for God commanded, and they were created.
Psalm 148:5

The wind rages outside and the temperature has dropped rapidly. As darkness descends, I send out an “emergency Christmas worship plan” to members of my congregation. The basic message: we will do what we can.

Who knows what tomorrow will bring? I read the news stating two-thirds of the people in the United States are affected by these storms. Flooding, whiteouts, power outages for over 1.4 million households. Life-threatening cold.

We do know what Christmas will bring. The birth of Jesus. God incarnate. Love. And on account of this holy love we will pray for those in trouble, we will help those in need, we will find ways to extend hospitality and aid and care to any whom we meet.

Come, Jesus.

 

Amidst the storm

Thursday of the Fourth Week of Advent

God heals the brokenhearted

and binds up their  wounds.
Psalm 147:3

It is cold and rainy where I am, the freezing temperatures not expected until tomorrow. Yet I know so many are already in the midst of fierce storms. Even with warning, for many there is no way to prepare. Many will be caught. Many will reach out. Many are ravaged by storms not of weather but of war, violence, depravation.

Jesus was born into a world of tyrannical rulers, invaded lands, hunger and want. And Jesus reached out with compassion, helped the wounded, spoke words of love.

I text a friend to check in. She replies that she is awaiting a moment of calm amidst the storms.

The manger is that moment. Come, Jesus.

Those who tend

Wednesday of the Fourth Week of Advent

God shall have compassion on the lowly and poor;

and shall preserve the lives of the needy.

Psalm 72:13

As I brace myself against the cold, I think of all those who work outside. And those who do not have adequate warm clothing. And the shepherds. While the Bethlehem of Jesus’ time was not as cold as New Jersey today, still, those who watched their flocks by night needed warmth.

And who are the shepherds of today? Who are those who tend others, without much compensation? Those who watch long hours for the one moment when danger arises and their quick action saves lives? Those whose jobs are ordinary and overlooked and vital?

What would that manger scene look like, with all those shepherds gathered round?

Come, Jesus.

Holy light

Tuesday of the Fourth Week of Advent

 

May God be merciful to us and bless us,

show us the light of the holy countenance and come to us.

Psalm 67:1

 

In the early morning, while it is still dark, I begin a long drive to the airport, my passengers on the first leg of an extensive trip to visit family. We head due east, and soon are rewarded with the splendor of a winter sunrise.

 

We do not actually see the sun, just the evidence of its rising. A swath of pinkish-blue seen amidst the bare trees. The roadway gradually becoming more visible. The sky incrementally brightening until we realize it is daylight.

 

With well wishes, I drop off the travelers and turn west to head home; they will continue east until they arrive on a different day.

 

The Advent path too reveals itself with gradual illumination. And as I will end this day headed toward the darkest night, there are others in the world who celebrate the birth of the savior with increasing daylight. Either way, the path stretches into the infinite. And still, the moment of revelation will arrive.

 

Come, Jesus.

Final stretch with Jesus

Monday of the Fourth Week of Advent

For God alone my soul in silence waits;

from the One comes my salvation.

Psalm 62:1

I wait for Emmanuel: God with us. I wait for Jesus: Joshua, Yeshua, Yahweh saves, God saves. I wait for God who saves by being the God who is with us. So with us as to become truly human.

I want to walk this final stretch as if God is with us. As if Jesus is alongside of me, chatting about the scenery as we go. As if the prophecy of wisdom, peace, and healing is about to be fulfilled. As if I am ready to dive deep into mystery.

Come, Jesus.

Advent balm

Thursday of the Third Week of Advent

 

Offer to God a sacrifice of thanksgiving

and make good your vows to the Most High

Psalm 50:14

 

The cold sleet outside causes me to put on a coat I have yet to wear this season. As I reach my hand into a pocket, I discover an unexpected item. Chapstick. In the classic black and white colors.

This is not my preferred lip balm. It was my dad’s. He always had to have some on hand and it was often on my shopping list for him as I took care of him in his last years. Now as I hold the familiar tube, I feel his presence. He is always close to me during Advent, as one of my cherished childhood memories is of him praying the Advent collects around our family dinner table.

 

I have no idea how the Chapstick got into my pocket. But I hold it with gratitude, remembering my father and all the ways he shared his faith with me. He was one who introduced me to the Advent way as a way of life.

Not late

Wednesday of the Third Week of Advent

 

We can never ransom ourselves,

or deliver to God the price of our life.

Psalm 49:6

 

I look at the clock and am startled. How did it get to be so late? It is dark outside, so I should have known. Then again, is gets dark so early now.

 

I take a deep breath and begin to transition away from the work in front of me. Tidying up. Making a neat pile of what needs to be attended to tomorrow. Checking off things from my lists (one paper, one digital) and making quick notes of tasks I don’t want to forget.

 

Then I see the time on my phone, and I look at the clock again. Which was never changed when daylight savings ended. Which makes it an hour ahead. Which means it is not so late after all.

 

I have already set my work aside. Yet, the tasks tempt me with the thought of how much I can accomplish in an hour and how righteous that will make me. Except I know better. And I am grateful that I have learned that rest and play and contemplation are much better for my soul than doing “just one more thing.”

 

It is not late. It is the right time. To remember that my life belongs to God. To walk one day closer to the birth of salvation. 

In the midst

Tuesday of the Third Week of Advent

We have waited in silence on your loving-kindness, O God,
in the midst of your temple.
Psalm 48:8

 

Tomorrow is another day. This is what I remind myself as I look at the chaos on my desk and on my computer desktop. No telling what things look like inside my brain and soul. But I’m pretty sure “addled” covers it.
 
I am grateful for the number of times I have been invited into prayer today. In zoom, via text, through messenger. Grateful for each deep breath. Grateful for the person who promised to “have words with the angel responsible for your well being.” Grateful for all those who know it is the third week of Advent. And what that means.

And what that means is that we are in the midst. Of a familiar road with familiar ruts. Of a prayer-full path. Of people who wait expectantly together. Of sacred spaces discovered like rest stops along the way, taking form on digital screens and messy desktops and in addled minds and discomforted souls.
 
The loving-kindness of God is coming soon to a manger near you.

Dusk gift

Monday of the Third Week of Advent

If we have forgotten the Name of our God,

or stretched out our hands to some strange god,

Will not God find it out?

For God knows the secrets of the heart.

Psalm 44:20-21

The day is waning, the light fading moment by moment into the early winter dusk. And  as I take note, I also become aware of the deep quiet enveloping me. I linger. And choose to breathe slowly and take it in fully, so I can be nourished by peace.

Every moment is full of God’s marvelous presence. Who am I to be surrounded by such a gift?

The waiting. The journey. The holy way. The unexpected time. The promise of mercy. All gifts of Advent. And I have yet to arrive at the manger.

A Holy Way

The Third Sunday of Advent

A highway shall be there,

and it shall be called the Holy Way;

the unclean shall not travel on it,

but it shall be for God's people;

no traveler, not even fools, shall go astray.

Isaiah 35:8

The Advent path carries us toward more than a baby in a manger. We meander and circle our way toward the comings. First and second. Both and. Just what are we getting into?

We will likely be hindered along our way. And when we are, God’s bountiful grace and mercy meet us. Then, we set our feet and our hearts once again toward the Kairos time of God’s promise.

The Advent way, the Holy Way, is for God's people. And no traveler, not even fools,

shall go astray.

 

Shadows and roots

Saturday of the Second Week of Advent

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

The late afternoon sun casts long shadows, and as I finish my walk I see my own shadow thrown across the winter grass and onto the roots of a large maple tree.

My last few steps had been accompanied by prayer, a questing for a sense of self and purpose. And now I see myself in my shadow, stretched across the sacred roots of faith. Which are themselves only a shadow of what lies deeper. Strength. Resilience. Age.

My life is grafted to this tree, my substance nourished through its roots, my soul shown the way by the wisdom embedded within this holy hill. 

The roots roughen the way, the ground uneven. Yet this too is my Advent path, leading to the manger dwelling.

A rock and a prayer

Friday of the Second Week of Advent

Be my strong rock, a castle to keep me safe,

for you are my crag and my stronghold;

for the sake of your Name, lead me and guide me.

Psalm 31:3

I hold a small rock in my hand as I stand at the entrance to the winding path. The labyrinth welcomes me, takes me in, encircling me with its promise of calm.

I wend my way toward the center and back out again, always surprised as the path seems to lead me away from its center only to suddenly open its very heart to my wandering steps.

I stand and place my rock and my prayer on the boulder that holds the center. A heartbeat, or ten. Enough to feel strengthened for the journey, not just the return path. 

Remarkable

Thursday of the Second Week of Advent

Take delight in the Lord,

and God shall give you your heart’s desire. 

Psalm 37:4

It has been a day of banking and forms and problem-solving. And prayer. As I close files and clear my workspace to leave the office for the day, I offer a prayer of gratitude to God. I am grateful for the skills and experience I have gained along the way that make it possible for me to do my job well. And to love doing it. 

Certainly, there are days when the work is difficult and the road tedious. Yet the balance of my time living into my vocation is delight. And contentment. And often awe.

The way to the manger can seem a road so well-trodden that it is hardly remarkable. And this is why I pray. That I may always see the stars strewn along the path and know I step toward a holy mystery that will overflow my heart.

 

Clinging to Dust

Wednesday of the Second Week of Advent

My soul cleaves to the dust;

give me life according to your word.

Psalm 119:25

My soul cleaves to the dust in my house, the dust on the Advent road, the dust of grief and discouragement. I feel weary. I look at a week’s worth of mail heaped on the hall table and wonder how many important papers might be lost within it.

I sigh. Then, I acknowledge my weariness and offer it to God. And in doing so, feel the weight of it lessen. I look at the table again and decide I can at least throw the junk mail away. And having done that, I tidy up one pile. Then one more. I put away one thing. And then one more. I choose one task at a time. Commit to one doable thing. And as the clutter around me clears, the lethargy within me begins to clear as well.

As I move gently from task to task, I sense the holy One, breathing tenderness and words of life around me and into me and through me. I rest for a moment. And then another. And then one moment more. Still tired. No longer burdened. Another day along the Advent path. 

Family traditions

Tuesday of the Second Week of Advent

Feast of St. Nicholas

We will recount to generations to come

the praiseworthy deeds and power of the Holy One

and the wonderful works God has done.

Psalm 78:4

The container of gold-wrapped chocolate coins on the store shelf catches my eye. A perfect day to spy them. Today is the Feast of St. Nicholas, and when our children were little, they left their shoes by the door on the eve of this feast for the saint to leave chocolate coins in them. One of our loved family traditions.

Some years I was ready, other times I was making hectic runs to different stores trying to find the coins at the last minute. Now, when I am not looking, and when my offspring are young adults no longer at home, I am met with this abundance. Not wanting to waste my find, I take a picture and text it my kids.

The psalmist reminds us of that we pass along our faith stories so that the generations to come might know, and the children yet unborn, that they in their turn might tell it to their children; so that they might put their trust in God. Sometimes putting my trust in God is like leaving my shoes, or my soul, by the door and knowing they will be filled.

Boundless

Monday of the Second Week of Advent

I will give thanks to you, O Lord, with my whole heart;

I will tell of all your marvelous works.

Psalm 9:1

I do not understand lumens. Trying to find the right lightbulb is opaque to me these days. If it were watts, 25, 40, or 100, I would have an idea of just how bright it would be. Soft white, blue, or daylight would tell me something about the quality. My light vocabulary and knowledge are out of date.

And as I watch the afternoon light outside my window shift with each passing minute, I think how inadequate and less-than my indoor lighting choices really are. Could there be a bulb to replicate three o’clock in the afternoon on a winter’s day, or dawn in the spring, or six minutes after nine on a midsummer’s evening?

And how pallid is the minute-to-minute play of reflected light in the world around me compared to the boundless glory of God? How can I begin to tell of the marvelous works of the Holy One?  

Prepare

The Second Sunday of Advent

The Lord has been mindful of us

and will bless us

Psalm 115:12

Sometimes in order to prepare, we need to collect stuff. Likes gathering and setting out all the ingredients for a recipe before beginning the baking process.

Sometimes in order to prepare, we need to remove stuff. Like putting away coats and shoes and clearing off furniture and tables before company arrives.

And sometimes in order to prepare, we need to repent. Like taking stock of our lives and seeing where we have been at fault and confessing our sins and turning back to God.

Repenting can be about cleaning up our mess. Not because someone tells us to, or because we don’t want to get in trouble for it. But because it is the right thing to do. Because it will make the world better. Because it makes room for new life: in our lives and in our community.

Repenting can be full of joy. It can include setting down burdens we have been carrying and letting light into our lives.

Prepare. Make room. Repent. Make ready. Expect new life out of a stump. God sees us. Always. And God’s blessing is already on its way.

Refuge

Friday of the First Week of Advent

Show me your marvelous loving-kindness

O Savior of those who take refuge at your right hand

from those who rise up against them.

Psalm 17:7

I curl up in a favorite chair, warmed by an afghan and the winter sun streaming through the window. Also wrapped around me is a sense of God’s loving-kindness. I marvel at the gifts around me. The sun. The comfort. The ability to see and perceive. This moment of refuge.

A refuge is not just a place of retreat. It is a harbor, a place to rest and to rebuild. Where supplies and skill are at hand to repair and provision. In order to sail forth once again, to explore, to seek out, to engage with the world.

To take refuge with God, to retreat into the marvelous loving-kindness, is an act of wisdom and strength. Of expectant hope.

Invitation to an Open Place

Thursday of the First Week of Advent

The Lord brought me out into an open place,

and rescued me because the Holy One delighted in me.

Psalm 18:20

As I drive down the country road toward the nursery, I am surprised by a sense of eager anticipation. I am on my way to pick-up greens for the church, which could be perceived of as a bothersome errand. Yet, I am not at all cranky; I am joyful. I realize that I am excited about this season, about preparing for Christmas. And that this excitement has somehow caught me unawares.

As befitting the Advent theme, I feel like I am waking up. Waking up to the return of traditions and practices that had to be laid aside the last couple of years. Waking up to new and renewed relationships. Waking up to possibilities.

I had not expected replenished energy in my soul. Yet there it is, lightening my burdens and lighting the way ahead. I can see that what now unfolds before me is new, is of this time, not of the time before.

Somewhere ahead of me, an infant of the infinite awaits. I will not hurry. I will take the time that is needed. I step into the open invitation and let sacred delight wash through me.

Vulnerable and near

Wednesday of the First Week of Advent

Feast of St. Andrew

The Lord is near to the brokenhearted

and will save those whose spirits are crushed

Psalm 34:18

The cold rainy day both evokes pensiveness and soothes my soul. The early darkness calls to me of Adventide and lighting candles to dispel the gloom. Add a bit of quiet solitude and I find myself stepping across a liminal space in my day and into the mystery of the season.

God is mystery both far and near. God’s thoughts as far away from our way of thinking as heaven is from earth, God’s magnificence so awe-inspiring that we could do nothing but collapse if were we actually in the presence of the Holy One.

And God is as close and vulnerable as a newborn, as an infant on its mother breast. God comes near, enfolds the broken, finds the lost, comforts the mournful.

I yearn for the birth that awaits.

Ribbon of light

Tuesday of the First Week of Advent

You will shelter them,
so that those who love your Name

may exult in you.
Psalm 5:14

The morning sun weaves a ribbon of rosy-orange in and out of the bare trees. I am grateful as I absorb this ordinary moment of exquisite beauty.

Later in the day, I close my eyes and revisit that ribbon, taking it up, following along the path it has laid across the day, knowing it has traveled with me or even carried me to this moment.

And if later I quiet myself again, the ribbon of light will still be my companion, a reminder of the sacred tie that binds me to the Holy. Guiding and accompanying. Protecting and sheltering. Calling my soul to sing out. 

Advent waiting at the DMV

Monday of the First Week of Advent

Lord, how many adversaries I have!
how many there are who rise up against me!
Psalm 3:1

Waiting is the Advent theme, so of course it makes sense that I would begin this morning with a trip to the DMV. I prepared for this trip for weeks. Literally. I scanned the website thoroughly, followed links, and actually read all the fine print. All of it. Multiple times.

My oldest and I prepared for the excursion together, as we both needed to be there in person. We compared notes, printed out forms, and made sure we had all the necessary documentation. We even had a contingency plan based on the probability that we would be found wanting and would have to come back another day. And we had reading material for the time we would spend waiting.

We arrived and were met by a guard at the door who informed us that as of this month, we had to have an appointment. No walk ins. I am convinced this information was not on the website. But then he said, “I see you have all your forms, you can go on in,” and  smiled.

And from there it was a breeze. No waiting. Friendly employees. No obstacles, but rather a path made smooth.

In Advent, I am expectant. And now I am reminded that I would do well to expect advocates rather than adversaries, to turn away from the voice that compels me to be anxious, to lean toward the glorious new life already on its way.

Advent - the coming

 

How do we prepare for the unexpected?

seasons past have taught me that 

hope is precarious

and contagious

new life comes with vulnerability

and tenacity

The Advent, the coming, is certain

the hour remains sacred mystery

Come thou long expected one

Gifts of doubt and love and the winged ox

The Feast of St. Luke

I love the image of the winged ox for St. Luke…and all the places it carries me. This window is one of my favorites at my current parish of St. Luke's in Phillipsburg NJ. As a child I was quite taken with the depictions of the four evangelists as magnificent creatures: Matthew the angel, Mark the lion, Luke the ox, and John the eagle. These images have their origin in a vision described by the prophet Ezekiel, a vision of God in which he saw a bright cloud and in the midst of the cloud "something like" four living creatures. Over time, these four creatures (also described in another vision, the Revelation of St. John of Patmos) were associated with the four gospel writers.

I don’t know why Luke got the winged ox, but it has led me on many contemplative wonderings.

We typically think of Luke as a physician, a healer. The symbolism of the winged ox makes me think of strength, perseverance, and energy--all gifts that can aid the healing of body, mind, spirit, and community. The ox also makes me think of mystery and imagination; attributes that can also aid in healing.

Today we hear a different vision of Ezekiel’s, an extravagant vision of a river (Ezekiel 47:1-12). It is a river of strength and mystery and healing. Wherever the river goes, it brings life to creatures that swarm and swim and soar.  It makes stagnant water fresh. It provides food and sustenance. It is lined with trees, trees whose leaves will not wither nor their fruit fail, trees whose leaves are for healing. River of life. Leaves for healing

We also hear today from the very beginning of Luke’s gospel. Now, we would not know anything about St. Luke if he had not been a writer as well as a physician. Icons of Luke show him holding a book, symbolizing his writing. And some show him writing an icon, because in some traditions, he is considered an artist as well.

Luke’s gospel account begins with the evangelist’s explanation for why he is writing at all. Since many have undertaken to set down an orderly account, he begins, an account of Jesus, the Word and the fulfillment of God’s promise of salvation. I too decided after investigating everything carefully from the very first to write an orderly account for you, most excellent Theophilus.

Luke’s gospel is indeed a well investigated, orderly account. And… an account full of poetry and strength and perseverance and energy. Full of mystery and imagination and so many stories of the love and healing power of Jesus. This gospel is a place of love and healing and order.

Which leads me to the Israeli poet Yehuda Amichai and his poem “The Place Where we are Right”

From the place where we are right
Flowers will never grow
In the spring.

The place where we are right
Is hard and trampled
Like a yard.

When I first encountered this poem, I was caught by the very first line. I am someone who likes to be right. This poem calls me up short, reminding me that claiming my rightness can be a place of death rather than life, a place where curiosity has no room.

As members of council, we are tasked with bringing order to many, many things. Yet, I suspect that if we, as members of council, one of us, any of us, some of us, all of us…if we start from a place where we know we are right, we risk trampling the life and vision that is trying to grow in our church.

Yehuda goes on:

But doubts and loves
Dig up the world
Like a mole, a plow.

If you want anything new to grow, you have to disturb some dirt. And doubts and loves can disturb quite a bit.

So I will be bold and declare that doubts and loves are gifts we need on this Council.

Doubts and loves. Strength, perseverance, energy. Mystery and imagination. All gifts that Executive Council can use. And all gifts that I am sure are present in this room, gifts that I have already seen at work. Gifts of St. Luke poured out on us today for healing, for vision, for proclaiming the love of God.

I too decided to write an orderly account for you, most excellent Theophilus. For you, most excellent Theophilus. Theophilus—lover of God. For you, the reader. For you, the hearer. For you, the scholar. For you, the wonderer and wanderer. For you, the curious and doubtful. For you, the certain and the lost. For you who crave encouragement. For you who love poetry. For you who seek knowledge. For you who need healing.

For you. Most excellent lovers of God

This sermon was preached at the October 2022 meeting of the Executive Council of the Episcopal Church 

Alleluia!

Easter Day

Let everything that has breath

praise the Lord.

Hallelujah!

Psalm 150:6

and now here we are

with Alleluias and hymns of praise

and other signs of joy and celebration

and it doesn’t matter how we come to this day

trembling, fearful, confident, relieved, exuberant

joyful, doubtful, brave, uncertain

the tomb remains empty

empty of hate

empty of contempt

empty of broken hope

Jesus is among the living

Jesus, the bearer of extraordinary love

Jesus is here

Alleluia!

Without

Holy Saturday

My friend and my neighbor

you have put away from me,

and darkness is my only companion.

Psalm 88:19

Waiting without word.

Longing without consolation.

Watching without relief.

Faith grounded into dust

grounding itself in not knowing.

Image by zhugher from Pixabay

Trust

Good Friday

Our forebears put their trust in you;

they trusted, and you delivered them.

Psalm 22:4

how does one trust

after betrayal

in the face of denial

through sorrow

facing condemnation

in pain

without relief

when all is lost

Gathering

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

a day

a gathering

after shouts of triumph

and stones that sing

a meal with friends

becomes a sacrament

of tender care

and human kindness

Followed by human frailty

betrayal and denial

becoming a lament

narrating the failure of friends 

the malice of the crowd

the triumph of enemies 

a gathering

a night

Image by Pexels from Pixabay

Room for lament

Wednesday in Holy Week

 

In the evening, in the morning, and at noonday,

I will complain and lament,

and God will hear my voice

Psalm 55:18

 

this path makes room

for lament

for complaint

for grief and bitterness

 

I pour them out

the ground absorbs them

as it has welcomed the sorrows 

of those who walk before me

and those who will come after

 

God hears

accepts

holds

and then

 

and then

transformation

lies ahead 

Image by Angelo Mazzotta from Pixabay

Upheaval

Tuesday in Holy Week

 

When many cares fill my mind,

your consolations cheer my soul.

Psalm 94:19

 

Today--spring rain with summer warmth.

The odd, but expected, juxtaposition

of this season.

 

The way of sorrows

entwines itself among daffodils.

 

What is certain is upheaval.

And consolation.

Image by Shlomaster from Pixabay

Out of hand

 Monday in Holy Week

 

For I know my transgressions,

and my sin is ever before me.

Psalm 51:13

 

The uncertainty

curls its way around every thought.

This is the opportune time

the enemy is close at hand

along with my sin

and weakness.

Familiar territory.

 

Things

will get out of hand.

 

Out of my hands

and into the hands

of the One who created the robin

chirping outside my window.

Image by Anderson Menezes from Pixabay

Curve ahead

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

I arrive at the inevitable turn in the Lenten journey, as the most wrenching, most treacherous, most holy length of the road lies just ahead.

Now I measure my thirst. For what do I yearn? For solace. For steadiness. For rest. For consolation. For ease. For redemption and renewal. And not just for myself. I want the world to be restored. I want people to be delivered from violence and indignity. I want creation to be healed.

All of this I lay on the path before me, and pray to God.

Image by Taken from Pixabay

Ebb and flow

 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

 

Today is the calm after the storm. How many times have I experienced such respite? Relief after pain. Rest after exertion. Comfort after grief. It seems as if creation’s design sorts all energy into ebbs and flows.

 

Which makes me think that neither Lent nor life is much of a steady journey, or about progress or even progression. Rather an eddying. Perhaps faith is not so much a road I walk, but a series of streams that simultaneously carry me and compel me to navigate, branching off in possibility again and again.

 

Now I sit, held in the hands of sunlight and birdsong, noticing the vestiges of last night’s deluge trickle through the yard, pulled by the inevitability of gravity and meandering to find the easiest path.

Living water

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

Although the rain is accompanied by damp and cold that I wish we were past, it’s gentle patter on the leaves outside my window is a welcome sound. Calm. Tender. Soothing.

I need this, as my day is full of finances, proofreading, worship and organizational decisions. All important. All tasks which nurture this community of faith and enable us to care for and tend to others.

Also important is placing myself in the midst of this rain, life-giving water which even now reaches into the depths of the earth cracking open the hard shells of seeds that have been buried deep in the earth over the cold winter. I am also the recipient of living water. And as I turn my face to the holiness that is to come, it is with the understanding that I, too, will be cracked open, and what has been buried in cold and darkness will be called forth.

The Lenten road---the wilderness way, the struggle through the desert-- inevitably pours itself out onto the thirsty ground at the foot of the cross. Where true life is found.

Image by Pexels from Pixabay

While waiting

 Wednesday in the Fifth Week of Lent

My soul waits for the Lord,

more than watchmen for the morning,

more than watchmen for the morning.

Psalm 130:5

As I get into the car after my appointment, I feel the sun’s warmth. The outside air remains spring-cool, but in my car it is toasty. I sit for a moment. There is still money in the meter. I do not have to be somewhere else at a particular time. Why not just continue to sit and soak up the warmth?

I settle in and unwind. I decide that the most important thing for me to do is to relax into this coziness. On my next three errands, I repeat the practice. I park, sit still in my car, and absorb the sunlight. And the peace. And God’s presence.

Yes, there is work waiting for me. And it can continue to wait. I will wait for the Lord.

Image by joduma from Pixabay

Joy released

Tuesday in the Fifth Week of Lent

Then was our mouth filled with laughter,

and our tongue with shouts of joy.

Psalm 126:2

I am up to my ears with Holy Week planning when my spouse, with feigned sincerity, suggests a bawdy street ballad for Easter Sunday. I guffaw. I laugh loud and fully. And then I laugh some more.

It feels good to release the serious tension in my soul and body. I laugh not only because his suggestion is ridiculous, but also because he knows it is. He offers me this moment of frivolity as a gift. He wants me to laugh. He wants me to be well.

I savor the humor of the moment and the playfulness we share. And more than that. Filling my body with laughter opens me to joyfulness. And I am reminded once again that the holy One who accompanies me through the wilderness also shields my joy.