Lent

It’s Easter evening, the end of a day in which we worshiped with a full sanctuary, high energy and enthusiasm. Organ and trumpet and alleluias galore. Swarms of children, buzzed on Easter candy and the celebratory atmosphere. They brought their heavy One Great Hour of Sharing fish and put them in the basket. The cross still stood in the sanctuary, but today it was blooming! We brought in fresh flowers to adorn it. Christ is risen. He is risen, indeed. It’s Easter, and I am amazed that still, after all these years of Easters, I am filled with indescribable joy. We prepared a festive dinner and drank a toast to Jesus. To Jesus, who broke out of that tomb.  All thanks be to God. Alleluia. Amen.

Some hard things happen in April. We have the remembrance of Martin Luther King, Jr being shot and killed in Memphis, Abraham Lincoln’s assassination. The mass murders at Virginia Tech happened in April, and today we observe the 20 th  anniversary of the Columbine killings. It’s hard to believe such a delicate and pretty month can unleash such terror. But I know that there is no season for massacre, no season for death. There is evil at work in every month of the year. I believe this because I have seen it. I have seen the terrible cruelty, I have felt the nearly unbearable pain. There is evil that works by making – or allowing? – people to commit horrendous acts of violence, and others to stand by passively. There is evil that works by getting inside a person like an infection, causing them intense and unrelenting suffering of the body, mind, or spirit. Evil victimizes the vulnerable and sometimes turns these victims into victimizers. But I also believe that good is stronge...

On Good Friday we remember how Jesus was hung on a cross – the way Rome dealt with criminals and terrorized the citizenry. There were three hanging on Golgotha that day. Jesus hung between two other men, both convicted criminals. What they did, we do not know. As they hung on their crosses, they spoke to one another. It seems unlikely that these two men knew Jesus. Maybe they had heard of him – that’s possible. Something about him, though, made one of the two men believe he was innocent, more than innocent. And before he died, this man said to Jesus, “Remember me when you come into your kingdom.” Remember me. Think of me. Have mercy on me . He confessed his sin, then he confessed his faith. And Jesus replied, “Today you will be with me in paradise.” I see you. I hear you, I forgive you . When the scriptures say God remembered Israel, we know it means God turned back to them. God saw their suffering and redeemed them. it seems to be the same for this criminal on the cross. ...

According to Luke, the women go to the tomb early Sunday morning to tend to the corpse of their beloved, and there they find it all changed. The tomb wide open. The body gone. Two dazzling men waiting for them inside – angels? And the men ask the women, “Why do you look for the living among the dead?” It seems like an important question. Because, honestly, aren’t we still looking for Jesus? And, don’t you wonder, are we spending our time, energy, and money looking for him in the wrong places? I read a story recently about a man who lost his faith. He lost it in church –  that happens sometimes.  He talked about having a God-shaped hole in him, and he seemed to think he could fill that hole with a woman. But it didn’t work. She didn’t want to be his god. Where do we look for Jesus – among the living or the dead? For many of us, it’s a matter of how we approach our faith practices. Do we worship the rituals, the way things have always been? Do we revere the traditions t...

“You are here.” Or, so it says on the map in the shopping mall. This may or may not be helpful to you, depending on your skill level at translating two-dimensional color-coded block representations of space into reality. Can you do that? If so, it might help you find the store you’re looking for.   But I need more than that. Some days I need to know that I am real, located in real time and space. On days when old, old memories of pain resurface. When something happens that takes me away from the present and back to someplace, sometime that was difficult. Painful. And I go back to that place in some way, even though it is no longer real. Even though it is not rational. The body seems to want to hold on to pain that is no longer real. Dorothy was my guide, years ago, in the practice of being present in the here and now. When old pain that was deep inside latches on to something and drags itself out of hiding to traumatize once again, Dorothy taught me to breathe and speak word...

I think there are Lost and Found departments everywhere that are full of stuff that will never be reclaimed, because they are not worth the trouble of being found. Umbrellas, sunglasses, scarves, jackets. Apparently, if you have lost one of these items it’s too much trouble to go and find them again. I should know – I must have a dozen umbrellas sitting in Lost and Found boxes in several states. I am not sure where the line is that divides those items worthy of retrieving from those that will remain lost. The item has to be meaningful, but what makes something meaningful? Recently, in town, there was a woman who was search for a handmade blanket that had been accidentally tossed into a donation box with a bunch of old clothes. I felt sad for her because I doubt she will ever find it. Another day, a woman came into the church looking for her lost jacket. We searched the building together but did not find it. Again, I felt sorry, but I think she was looking in the wrong place. Sh...

There are some things you can try all you want to prepare for, but you’ll never be ready for them. Birth and death are two. Our society really encourages women to prepare for giving birth. Not only with the baby registries and showers, but with childbirth preparation classes, coaching, books, and the childbirth plan. When I had my babies, I had a plan. I took some classes. I read a bunch of books. I talked incessantly about what I wanted. And I didn’t just do it the first time around. I kept trying to get it right. Releasing a baby into the world is a hard thing, anytime. Death is like this too. Once you reach a certain age you will be asked regularly if you have an advance directive. “What do you want us to do if your heart stops?” you might be asked by an insensitive healthcare professional. They need this for your files. We don’t exactly plan our deaths – it’s more often the case that we plan to live forever. But we know in our hearts that is not a good plan, so we make a ...

Today is the first day of the last week of the season of Lent this year. Each day of this season has presented little challenges, but each day has also brought rewards. As I near the end, I am wondering what new beginning might come from Lent’s ending.   Lent is not meant to be a self-improvement program, I tell people this often. You don’t take up a fast because you needed to lose a few pounds, anyway. At the same time, it is true that we gain something for our efforts. It’s just that what you gain might be a surprise. Several years ago I participated in the YMCA Boot Camp. I did it because it was a challenge and I was promised a t-shirt if I made it all the way through. I made it to the end and I got my t-shirt on the last day, which was also the last day I went to the Y. The ending of Boot Camp did not lead to any new beginnings. But I suspect that the ending of Lent will lead to something. So one week from today, when this season has ended, a new one will have begun. I...

In Luke’s telling of Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem, the Pharisees tell Jesus to quiet his disciples’ boisterous singing. “Tell them to stop,” they say. I think the Pharisees are nervous. It’s a very tense time in Jerusalem. The Passover is coming. The city is filling with pilgrims celebrating, remembering the way God freed them from the chains of slavery all those many years ago. And, remembering how they were freed back then, they might be reminded that what they have now, under the authority of Rome, is not much like what God promised them. They might get angry and rise up. Which means that Rome would, without doubt, clamp down. They had several crosses ready to use if need be. So the Pharisees tell Jesus to silence his disciples. Because it’s all too dangerous. But Jesus turned to them and said, “If they were silent, the stones would shout out.” This cannot be stopped. The cry for freedom cannot be silenced.

Around this time of year, I think about how peace means different things depending on where you are standing. As Jesus and his disciples entered Jerusalem, a day we remember on Palm Sunday, they were singing for peace. They wanted peace. The Roman Empire wanted peace too. But to them, peace meant something entirely different. To Rome, peace meant no challenge to their authority. To the empire, who reasons that, since they have the power, they clearly also have the greater wisdom, so everyone should trust, them, honor them, obey them. And to Rome, the best way to keep the peace was to have the threat of violence always in the air. The Hebrew word we usually take to mean peace is nothing like this Roman peace. Shalom, the Hebrew word, means wholeness. This is the peace of God that often passes understanding – the peace that doesn’t really exist in this world. There are places in this world – in the Middle East, in Central America, in our own cities – where the poorest ones live ...

When I offer my morning prayers I always catch myself on the prayers of thanksgiving. My daily prayer app gives me prompts for thankfulness: for the love of the church, the care of friends and family, those who work for healing and the well-being of others, opportunities for generous giving, and so on. These are all beautiful things, for which I am grateful. But then I have the opportunity to offer my own petitions of thanksgiving, and I begin thinking of all that I have. I have so much comfort in my life, so much beauty, so much stimulation, challenge, opportunity. And I feel guilty for it. It feels inappropriate, even, to be thankful for the things I have, I think, because it shouldn’t be important. This is where it gets weird. I am undeserving of the abundance I have. I am undeserving of the blessings I have. But, of course, blessing is not earned. It is gift, it is grace. And how does one receive grace? I am reminded of the three-week trip to Cuba back in seminary. We ha...

I was watching the morning news when they brought on a guy who was promoting conversation. This is National Week of Conversation. I didn’t know there was such a thing, but it’s not hard to figure out why. Everyone is aware that we are talking – really talking – to one another less than we used to. We send messages, via text, email, or social media, but we don’t actually talk. Not as much. Kim and I have always enjoyed watching old movies, mostly for the witty conversation in many of them. we marvel at how good they seemed to be at it. They were clever and agile with their words. Clearly, they were well-practiced. Before the days of video screens, there was a much greater need for conversation. Years ago, a film called The Dead, based on a James Joyce story, showed one evening in an Irish home among a gathering of friends. There was no Bose sound system blaring music. There was no big screen TV on in the background, nobody bending over their cell phones. It was eerily quiet – exc...

They told me to bring fresh flowers on Easter morning. We have a bare wooden cross standing in the sanctuary now for the season of Lent. It has a purple cloth draped over it. Maundy Thursday, we will drape a black cloth over it. But after that, they explained, it will be covered with some kind of netting. Easter morning, as people arrive for worship, they will bring fresh flowers from their gardens to plant on the cross. By the time worship begins, the cross will be covered with beautiful, colorful flowers. Right now, I have some lovely flowers growing right outside my window, but I am afraid they will be gone by Easter. If so, I hope I will find something else, because I want to bring something to contribute to this tradition. It is a wonderful act of community. You could say it is an act of liturgy. Liturgy is, of course, the work of the people. It is our offering to God, and it is essential. Worship is not a performance on a stage by the professionals. It is not a passive sp...

Mondays, I begin with good intentions. I go into the office with a mental to-do list. There are a few well-defined tasks to be done early in the week. I really like to have that structure on a Monday. But I always think these tasks will go faster and smoother than they do. So by the time I get them completed, I feel like I’ve spent all my focus and intention for the day. I sit at my desk with a pile of papers and books, stare at my computer abstractedly, thinking that there must be something more that I need to do but too unfocused to find it. Today, however, was an exceptional day, weather-wise, and I began the day determined to spend part of it outside – even if I didn’t have any particular purpose or direction. So out I went. Where would the Spirit send me?  To a new coffee shop in town. There was a woman there waiting for her coffee. She told me how great this place was. She showed me all the reward points she has earned, because she goes there pretty much every day. S...

A rest is an empty space surrounded by busyness. All the other space is full of something, so the rest has to be marked. Its place needs to be reserved – for nothing. And often, I notice, in singing, we want to jump into the rest and fill it with our voices. It just seems like it doesn’t belong there, sometimes. Like it’s asking too much of us, to stop and wait. This is especially true if there is a full measure of rest. We have the urge to jump in prematurely and end the rest. I was once at a piano performance where the pianist told us, “This piece I am going to play has several points which sound like an ending. But it won’t be the ending, so be careful. Pay attention.” He didn’t want us to break out in applause in the middle of what was actually a rest. It might be uncomfortable for us because it sticks out. But by its emptiness, the absence of sound, the rest helps give the music its shape, its beauty, its meaning. This is the same as the idea behind sabbath. If everythi...

I was at Ocean City today for a Presbyterian Women’s retreat. It was cool but there was a big group of kids out on the beach – doing what, I don’t know, but they were having fun. At the hotel next door there was a group of young adults celebrating on the patio. They were probably on spring break. I think about how the ways we celebrate change. When we are little, birthday parties are the thing. The excitement is all about cake and games, goodie bags and opening gifts. They get all wound up because of the specialness of the occasion. They eat too much cake and somebody throws up. Somebody cries. And these college kids on spring break. All the excitement is about being out of school, away from home, in an exotic location. They get all wound up and drink too much. Somebody throws up. Somebody cries. It’s not all that different, I guess. Eventually we get old enough to have discovered the virtue of moderation – I hope – so we don’t throw up as much anymore. And we are less incline...

When you can’t have everything, it’s good to ask yourself what is worthy of having. When you don’t have enough time to do everything, it’s good to ask yourself what is worthy of your time. Right? When my kids were little, I learned to make decisions differently about the things I chose to do. I began asking myself what is the best thing I can do right now.   When the babies are asleep, what is the best thing for me to do? What is worthy of my time? Do I need sleep? If so, go for it. If not, then obviously the answer is to read a book.  I know, I know, there are other important things. Like, the kitchen probably needs cleaning and laundry needs done – but, you know what? You can do that when the baby is awake. You really can.  For everything there is a season and a time for every purpose under heaven. So says the author of Ecclesiastes. The thing I realized back then was that it was all a matter of timing. What do you need at any given time? What can you appreciat...

Recently, I was telling some people about the cross-cultural experience I had when I was a student at Lancaster Theological Seminary. Every second-year student was expected to participate in a three-week trip to a different culture – a place that would challenge our assumptions and broaden our vision. Sometimes it’s India. Sometimes it’s Israel. Sometimes it’s Africa or Latin America. The year I went it was Cuba. It has to be three weeks long, we were told, because that’s how much time it takes to become immersed in a place, to get over that “I’m just on vacation” feeling. The first week I was in Cuba I embraced the uniqueness of it. I busied myself with taking photographs and making notes in my journal. I felt very much like a tourist. I was fine. The second week got a little harder, it began to feel long. With no phone calls or internet service, I yearned to see my kids’ faces, hear my family’s voices.  The third week a weird thing happened. It was like I had accepted ...

This is sort of a love letter to my mother, because when I think of welcome I think of her. She was so good at it. When someone came to visit her, she seemed so relaxed and happy in their presence. You could catch her with a dirty house, you could catch her in the middle of some task, you could even catch her having forgotten that she invited you over – it would be okay. She didn’t worry about all that stuff. She was focused on her guests.   She always wanted to make her guests feel comfortable, and she did this by paying attention to them. She noticed what they liked, what put them at ease. When Kim and I were first married, we visited my parents. It took mom about a day to figure out what Kim enjoyed. She started putting magazines and newspapers out on end tables next to comfy chairs. She put bowls of peanut M&Ms on the tables, too. When the M&Ms ran out, she refilled them. They never stayed empty. She did all this so subtly that Kim didn’t even notice for a while....

The best time to listen is in the quiet. During the night, when the world is asleep in the darkness. Or early in the morning before the world has awoken. You can listen for the things you wouldn’t be able to hear at any other time. Listen to the breathing of those who are closest to you. Listen to your house. Listen to the birds singing their morning songs. Listen to the critters that only creep out at night calling to each other. Listen to the voice inside of you. It probably has a lot to say but little chance to say it and be heard. The temptation is to shut it down. Drown it out with other noises. Or take a pill, have a drink, put it to sleep. But it’s still there, of course. Still needing to be heard. Here’s a suggestion: sometimes the voice inside of you needs to be told, “I love you.” Say it. Again and again and again, as many times as you like – no one else is listening. Say it as many times as it helps – I love you, like a mantra. Then listen.

In the third chapter of Genesis there is a story about God walking in the garden in the cool of the evening. Adam and Eve hear God and they hide themselves, because they have recently discovered they are naked. This story suggests an intimacy, a nearness, with God that goes beyond anything we ever have or will experience. Just hanging out together in the garden – that is, until they got booted out. Paradise lost, intimacy gone. After that, access to God has been severely limited.  Abraham, sometime later, had the occasion to walk and talk with God, negotiating the fate of Sodom with the Lord. Or was it the Lord’s angels? Or just three men? Actually, the text is pretty unclear about this, so maybe it wasn’t totally clear to Abraham, either, who he was talking to. Angels do seem to stand in for God occasionally. Such as the night Jacob, Abraham’s grandson, wrestled with an angel; it was probably because God was a little vexed with Jacob. He was a handful of a man, wasn’t he?...