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.

Disrupted growth

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

As I drive along the highway, I see the vestiges of several recent storms: bare trees with large limbs broken off, as if a giant hand or scythe had cut across them at a particular height. Trees that were just beginning the process of putting forth buds, reaching tentative fingers into the cold spring air, responding to sunlight and the promise of warmth to come.

The evidence of these storms, and of life cut off, will remain for a long time. Years from now, the observant will be able to read the story of the disrupted growth.

And years from now, other life—plants, insects, critters—will have claimed space in this wind-torn territory.

I have traveled the Lenten wilderness many times. Each crossing includes storms and promise, cut-off potential and unexpected growth. This time, as always, it is God who will carry me through. Today, again, I entrust myself to loving hands and step forth.

 

Image by Carola68 Die Welt ist bunt...... from Pixabay

Time to ponder

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

A waiting line begins to form in my psyche as the day’s distracted thoughts arrive ready to claim my time, attention, and spirit. It seems not only easy but right to let them all swarm in. Why not take care of them right away? Then my mind will be clear.

Except I know better. If I give way now, there will be nothing else in my day. The tasks, problems, disruptions will crowd out my desire for prayer, quiet, and time to just think.

I take a deep breath and reach for the gratitude that greeted me first thing this morning. I take hold of a tendril of contemplation and follow it as it gains strength, becoming a sure life-line tethering me to the wisdom of the Holy One.

I will take the time now to contemplate, deliberate, muse. To ponder not just the mercy, but the mercies of God.

Image by chenspec from Pixabay

Trust

Friday in the Fourth Week of Lent

Lord, hear my prayer, and let my cry come before you;
hide not you face from me in the day of my trouble.
Psalm 102:1

I listen as the rain slashes the windows, the storm throwing itself at the world, wild and fierce. If I were out in that tumult….

Wild and fierce can be the road I travel at times, and I can feel tossed about. While my impulse can be to cower in the face of uproar, rather this is when I most need to reach out. To ask for prayer from others. To wrap myself in community. To remember that all is not up to me. To trust in God. And trust. And trust.