Lent, Day 45: Day of Preparation.

Today's reading: Mark 15:42-47

Forty-four days ago, on the first day of the Lenten season, we began this journey with John the Baptist and found ourselves, with him, "preparing the way" of the Lord. On that day I wrote about our call to preparation for the Lenten journey; a call not to concern ourselves with outcomes but to be about the business of making ready. I offered this prayer--and I offer it again today:

God, help us in this season to accept the call to preparation, even when we may never see a culmination of the effort. Give us clarity about what it is that we are preparing for. Grant us courage in the face of finality, when we're forced to let things go. Keep the Easter hope alive in us; remind us always of your power over death.

Today we stand by a sealed tomb, with broken hearts, but with a sense of nervous anticipation--practically holding our breaths, confident that something is yet to happen. We've watched the end of the story, seen the body removed from the cross and the stone rolled into place, but we hold out hope that it was not an end at all. We trust it is, instead, a "To be continued..." And so here we are, once again, on a new Day of Preparation. Not a foreword or an introduction, but still readying ourselves for a journey unlike any we have known.

This is a journey back into life.

Are we prepared for what new life means?

We can't pretend death doesn't happen--because it must, so that there can be a life that is abundant even beyond the grave.

We can't pretend the old days don't matter--because a new existence is built on the promises and precepts of the past.

We can't pretend we're not afraid--because only when we commit ourselves in faith can we finally lay our fears at his feet.

And we simply cannot pretend that letting go is easy--because only through the pain, through the loneliness, through the tears, through the silence of the tomb, can God break through again and again to show us what it really means to live.

Let us pray:

God, help us on this day of preparation once again to make ready the way of the Lord: a new way, a new life. Prepare our hearts for resurrection--to be raised with your beloved Son to walk with him, offering a wounded world hope that death no longer has the last word. As we wait for the dawn to break on a new sabbath, prepare us for wonder. Prepare us for celebration. Prepare us to see you again.

Lent, Day 45: A breath prayer for Holy Saturday.

Breathing in: The stone is in place...

Breathing out: ...empty, we wait.

Lent, Day 44: What is good.

Today's reading: Mark 15:1-41

it's good to know who you are

especially when you carry

the rights and responsibilities

of a King

it's good to know the truth

about motives

and motivations:

not all accusers are victims

not all mobs are righteous

it's good to know that help is near

when the cross is simply

too much to bear

it's good to know what your faith is in

("just to be clear:

no miraculous feeding, healing, life-restoring

could convince us--but

let him save himself,

haha

yes, then we would believe")

it's good to know you're not alone

even when

you are alone

it's good to know it's not too late

to profess belief

to cry out in confession

to acknowledge a terrible wrong

to recognize

the Son of God

Lent, Day 44: A breath prayer for Good Friday.

Breathing in: By his wounds we are healed...

Breathing out: ... it is finished.

Lent, Day 43: Body.

Today's reading: Mark 14

"Take it; this is my body." (v. 22)

the smell

of perfume permeates the house

(causing some to mutter

"how dare she!" and maybe even

"how dare he!")--

the scent of sorrow

lingers after the oil

has dried

the taste

of bread--unleavened,

to remind them of God's faithfulness

(even now);

the taste of wine--

the cup of life,

poured out and poured out

and poured out, and

abundant

even now

the sight

of an onlooker

running naked

away

(the sight of shame?

of humility?

of vulnerability?

the sight of

escape?)

the touch

of a kiss.

of a sword.

of a warming fire.

of spit.

of fists.

the sound

of a rooster's waking crow.

the sound

of weeping

in the breaking dawn.

this is my body. take it.

Lent, Day 43: A breath prayer for Maundy Thursday.

Breathing in: You give us your body...

Breathing out: ...we pour out all our hopes on you.

Lent, Day 42: Come near. (A prayer.)

Today's reading: Mark 12:28-13:37

Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will never pass away. (v. 31)

Your kingdom is near, O God,

so near we can

feel its breath

(just as generations

before have felt it).

Scattered to the winds,

we await your call,

anxious to be gathered close

and escorted deeper into

the eternity

you have already begun.

We, whose every love and

every richness

comes from you,

are watching:

we are here.

We anticipate your coming

not with fear, but in faith,

knowing that you who conquer death

are not interested in

pointless destruction

but in

loving redemption.

With gratitude we remember

(every day of this difficult walk

we know Friday must come

must always come, so

we keep reminding ourselves)

what you have done

and what you always do:

You love.

You live.

You call.

You breathe.

You speak.

You never end.

Lent, Day 42: A breath prayer for Holy Wednesday.

Breathing in: Gather us in to your self...

Breathing out: ...from the ends of the world, we watch.

Lent, Day 41: Authority.

Today's reading: Mark 11:27-12:27

For these couple of days, daily readings in large chunks will help us be on track for the stories of Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and Easter Sunday. The teachings of Jesus in Jerusalem seem to be a sort of last-ditch effort on his part, to enlighten the religious elite, to reassure the faithful, and to prophecy of the coming promised Kingdom. By the time Jesus is arrested, those listening--whether willingly or menacingly--have been instructed, encouraged, and warned.

Today's reading incorporates a straightforward question of Jesus' authority, a relatively obvious parable about the murderous behavior of the tenants left in charge (obvious enough that the real-life subjects were furious about it!), the issue of taxes and earthly authority, and even the question of marriage in the afterlife. Grouping them into a single reflection feels a bit like a preschool puzzle: what do these things have in common?

They have God in common. God, the ultimate Teacher, who does not condescend to the human demand for proofs and resumes. The Vineyard Owner, whose servants have been mistreated and whose Heir will be killed. The Source of Power, who has no need of Caesar's riches or Caesar's earth-bound might. The Author of relationships, the God of eternal Love, and always the I AM of the living... in fact, the Maker of life.

They have in common the one true Authority: Teacher, Owner, Source, Author, Maker, I AM.

As Jesus walks his last days in the holy city, let us be faithful students, learning well the lessons of honor he teaches. Let us be responsible citizens of the coming Kingdom, encouraged that we need not confuse worldly powers with the eternal. And let us be watchful seekers, heeding his warnings that preparedness is vital. God's day is coming: when all teachings will be made clear, when the rejected Cornerstone will be exalted, when Love itself will live.

Lent, Day 41: A breath prayer for Holy Tuesday.

Breathing in: Your kingdom comes near...

Breathing out: ...I give all my love.

Lent, Day 40: Teaching.

Today's reading: Mark 11:12-26

And he taught them... and the whole crowd was amazed at his teaching. (vv. 17a, 18b)

little did we know

when he came

hungry to the fruitless fig tree

he'd be teaching us

a lesson about

the power of his words

little did we know

when he came

furious to the once-holy temple

upending the thieves' tables

he'd be teaching us

a lesson about

the house of prayer

little did we know

when he came

boldly to the mountainous city

with a heartful of faith

(leading us

with a word, a prayer, a touch,

pointing us in the direction of

a hill we'd all have to face)

he'd be teaching us

a lesson about

love

Lent, Day 40: A breath prayer for Holy Monday.

Fill me with a faith to move mountains...

... flow from me in forgiving love.

I've been trying to think about a way to incorporate a personal worship element into this Holy Week's devotionals... for those of you whose churches may not have a Holy Week tradition, as well as for myself. With our kids at these ages, it is difficult for us to attend weekday or nighttime services, so for now we are "on our own" to mark the days of this set-apart week.

Once I realized it was perhaps (!!!) unrealistic to think of designing full-on home-and-family worship services on the spur of the moment, I decided instead to offer a breath prayer for each day until Easter. I'll send out the breath prayer every morning, so hopefully you (and I) will be able to have it in mind throughout the day. The regular reflection will come, as usual, later in the afternoon or evening. These breath prayers, like the reflection, will be inspired by the day's scripture reading.

If you're unfamiliar with the practice of breath prayers, they are brief--two line--prayers or meditations... brief words to help turn our thoughts toward God. You can use them anytime, anywhere; you can breathe the prayer once, or slowly and repetitively. As you take a breath in, simply say the first line of the prayer in your mind and heart; as you breathe out, say the second line. Typically breath prayers are formatted so that the "in" line is a prayer for filling, entering, nourishing, and the "out" line is a prayer of giving, letting go, release. You can jot the words down and carry them along with you in a physical way, as well as in a spiritual way, throughout this day.

I hope these brief prayers will help you to slow down and truly participate in this Holy Week.

Blessings to you.

Lent, Day 39: Hosannahs and homesickness.

Today's reading: Mark 11:1-11

This morning, during the Palm Sunday service at church, I felt overcome by homesickness.

When I mentioned it during our traditional Sunday Morning Car Ride Debrief on the way home, I realized that I have a rather strange reality that comes from these many years of moving around and having had so many homes... that is, different occasions induce in me feelings of homesickness for different places.

As I think about the strangeness of that, I wonder if maybe it's an appropriate feeling for this day, when perhaps Jesus himself was experiencing a bit of the same thing. On this entrance into Jerusalem, on a visit that he knew would be his last, and during the tradition-enriched Passover festival, I wonder if he was thinking about all his many homes: his birthplace in Bethlehem, his safe haven in Egypt, his childhood in Galilee, the hospitable homes where he was made welcome in his traveling life. Even the temple, his Father's house. All these homes, where he'd celebrated the Passover, where he'd blessed dinners and held babies and healed and taught and laughed and cried; all these, he knew he'd never see again on earth.

Maybe he was even a bit homesick for his Heavenly home... the one he surely knew was awaiting his return.

Blessed is the One who comes--who rides on a humble colt into the turmoil of humanity.

Blessed is the One who comes--who enters our cities, our neighborhoods, our homes.

Blessed is the One who comes--who steps over the threshold and into the living spaces of our lives.

Hosannah! Come, and save us!

Lent, Day 38: Being heard. (A prayer.)

Today's reading: Mark 10:46-52

Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me.

when the crowds try to silence me,
and when I let them,
Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me.

when I fear that you have passed me by
because I am not good enough for you
Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me.

when, in my blindness, I fail to see where you are walking,
and when I fail to follow
Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me.

when I only use my voice to criticize,
to complain, to argue, to judge, to spout off,
Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me.

when I am afraid to ask you
for what I want
and
when I've convinced myself that my luxuries
are really needs
Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me.

Jesus, Son of David, I want to see.
I want to follow you along the way.
I want to use the gift of speech to pray:
Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me.

Lent, Day 37: Being great.

Today's reading: Mark 10:35-45

Even those closest to Him failed to understand; it's no wonder we have trouble getting it.

It's not just our businesses, our homes, our churches, our schools and communities, our country... on every level, from the family to the nation, the desire for power is human nature. Living together in societies seems to demand structure, leaders and followers, planners and do-ers, and all of us find ourselves somewhere in the ladder of authority. There are people in power over us, and others over whom we have authority. Success, inevitably, becomes defined by our ability to move upward on that ladder. We admire those who show ambition, the desire and the drive to keep moving up and up.

All of which makes me think, if we had to choose one single teaching of Jesus that must be The Most Difficult Challenge For Our Human Culture, it must be this one. It is contrary to everything we have been taught about this earthly life (and The American Dream)... where climbing the ladder and becoming the greatest is equated with financial success, personal value, and even national pride (how often do we repeat the conventional wisdom that we live in "the greatest country in the world"?).

My emotional response to this text is, even as I type this, bouncing back and forth between "relief" and "embarrassment." Relief that Jesus is resetting the balance of our efforts, reorienting us to God's standards of success, allowing us to get off the ladder. Relief that the true value of humans is, simply, as humans... not as acheivers, or earners, or winners, or owners. Relief that I can stop trying to stretch ever higher, and instead kneel down.

But... also, embarrassment. A lot of embarrassment. It's embarrassing that our nation can be divided so violently over who is in or out of power; we can't even find ways to work together, much less serve one another. It's even more embarrassing, though, that our churches and denominations have fallen prey to the same drama. And it's embarrassing that every day I forget it, myself, in my own home and with the people I love the best.

I bet James and John were embarrassed, too, when they realized their mistake. They'd forgotten already how it was, there with the people they loved, and who loved them, the best.

May we daily be reminded that it is not too late for our lives, our homes, our churches, our community to be modeled after the one who came "not to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many." May we choose to step off the ladder, to let go of our striving notions of success, and to stop reassuring ourselves that being the greatest is important (when, in truth, being the greatest is at best irrelevant, and at worst delusional). May we begin to esteem ourselves and others not by the quantity of our power, but by the quality and the action of our love.

Lent, Day 36: Being a child.

Today's reading: Mark 10:13-16

(Apologies for the out-of-order scripture! I was wondering why there are more days left in this week than there are passages left in chapter 10; turns out I was in such a hurry to get to the Rich Young Man that I totally neglected the Little Children. Seems ironic. Anyway, I'll be back on track tomorrow!)

This is what it is to be a child of God:

It is to be carried in the arms of your parents to the lap of Jesus.

It is to be covered with the grime of daily life; to have frogs in your pockets, to be blowing a bubble, to be grass-stained and lollipop-sticky.

It is to have his hand placed on your head, to let him rumple your hair or wipe dirt off your cheek. It is to receive his touch.

It is to hear his blessing spoken over you. It is to hear your name on his lips.

And it is to be rebuked by those who expect you to be "seen and not heard."

But it is to be welcomed, in spite of the naysayers. It is to be unhindered: to jump to the front of the line, to have the crowds stand aside for you. It is to see his arms spread wide open, beckoning you, making space for you.

It is to bring your simple self, with no pretense--fumbling, learning, trying again and again to get it right, playing, falling down and getting back up, coloring outside the lines, growing up without even realizing it.

And it is to be given the keys to the Kingdom.

God,
thank you
for always making room,
and
for accepting the children
that we are.

Lent, Day 35: Being aware.

Today's reading: Mark 10:32-34

They were on the road to Jerusalem--as, in a way, are we.

Over these 2000+ years of church history, this springtime journey toward Easter has become "Lent," a familiar observance to many Christian traditions, while more or less unknown to others (including the one in which I was raised). Many churches plan special Lenten services throughout the season, and gather several times during Holy Week--the week between Palm Sunday and Easter--as a way to walk mindfully toward the cross and toward the empty tomb, following the steps and stops of Jesus and his disciples. Next week, I hope to incorporate into my Holy Week blogging some specific suggestions for a personal observance of the Easter journey.

There's a temptation, no doubt, to skip over to the "good parts version" of Easter: Jesus's reconciling action on the cross, and the miracle of resurrection... the crux (literally) of the story. We may be inclined to "sing the wondrous story," and we surely will--but we must first walk the way. We must first be actively aware of the whole story, and take our part in it.

Jesus is leading the way to Jerusalem, followed by his awestruck apostles, and a parade of fearful followers. I can understand the apostles' astonishment, but why were the following crowds afraid? They're on a pilgrimmage they don't, can't, understand; they know he feeds, and heals, and teaches, and restores life... but they also know he has offended the authorities and broken numerous long-standing laws. They may not have been given the cheat sheet for what was to happen, but they know that something's got to give. And he knows it too.

He has told his closest disciples this story before, but now that they have truly set their course for Jerusalem, he gathers them close once again and tells them, in clear and concise terms, where this path is taking them. They can't skip to the good parts. It is going to be painful, and they have to be there for it. It is going to bring out their best and their worst--their very most human selves. And that's necessary, because it's those most human selves--and ours--that are redeemed by Jesus' victory over death.

It's important that we, too, follow Jesus on the way to Jerusalem. We can't skip to the good parts--because the whole story is gospel, the "good news." The teachings, the healings, the restorations, the dissent and the holy law-breaking, the feeding hungry bellies... all good news. The hosannahs of Palm Sunday. The anointing, the washing of feet, the supper. The soldiers. The temple veil. The centurion. The stone. The sunrise.

All great good news.

So as we join the crowd following the Messiah on this last journey, let us express our astonishment, and let us lay our fears at his feet. Let us hear again the wondrous story--the whole story--that is his calling and our salvation. Let us be aware of each faithful step we take with Christ, so we can truly celebrate the Easter miracle: that with him, we too are raised, to walk together in newness of life.

Lent, Day 34: Being free.

Today's reading: Mark 10:17-31

My first instinct was to title this reflection "being empty," because my first impression was that that's what Jesus was requesting of the rich young man: that he empty his pockets, and thereby empty out himself, in order to follow the Lord.

But it seems we often latch on to the negative idea of things, rather than looking a bit harder to find the positive... not just what "feels bad" versus what "feels good," but what is removed rather than what is restored. We seem more comfortable, sometimes, with coping with what is taken away than with graciously accepting what is added. Perhaps it's because what is added is often not quantifiable, or perhaps it's simply because we've been taught that sacrifice is sacred.

So I asked myself, what is the point of this encounter, between Jesus and a young man whose cash value trumped his desire for discipleship? Is the point emptiness--the removal? Is it charity--the giving? Or is it freedom--the gift of freedom from all the things that would hold us back from following whole-heartedly? Once again, Jesus turns expectations upside-down: a young man, from the right background, with the right beliefs, who has checked all the necessary boxes, who seems a shoe-in for religious inclusion, is shown to be enslaved to the one thing he holds most dear: $$$.

(Okay, I know, they didn't use $dollars$ back then!!! What should I have said: "the almighty sheckel"? LOL)

This is a tremendously difficult text for most of us to hear, in a contemporary society where we are generally in no danger of losing all we have--much less, of being asked to give it away willingly. We have the luxury of reading this passage with a long lens; we can speculate on it theologically, we can hypothesize and opinionate about issues of wealth, care for the poor, family relationships, independence, walking away, and walking alongside Jesus. Then we can go to our warm, safe homes, and eat cozy dinners, and hug our spouses, our children, our parents, our friends. And this is what our culture teaches us is "freedom": freedom is holding tight to what we have earned and what we deserve; freedom is having choices, including the choice to give; freedom is belonging. Likely that rich young man thought he was free: he had his full billfold, his choices, his class.

In this freedom-loving society, are we willing to consider that maybe our definition of freedom has been overly influenced by the almighty sheckel? The freedom Jesus offers to the rich young man has no connection to the coins in his pocket; instead, Jesus offers the freedom of emptiness, of releasing the possessive grasp, of letting go. The freedom of traveling light.

God, forgive me for all the times I try to mold your gospel like clay, to fit tidily inside my own values and priorities. Help me to be truly free to follow you: help me to release my grasping fists, to let go of the things that promise only fleeting security. Help me to find my belonging on the path to your kingdom.

Lent, Day 33: Being joined.

Today's reading: Mark 10:1-12

In this week leading up to Palm Sunday, the focus is on the tenth chapter of Mark (conveniently divided into six tidy sections); it's a chapter that incorporates teachings, callings, encounters, prophecy, healings, gentle rebukes. To be honest I've been puzzling all day over how to write about today's passage, a text about (as some obviously pessimistic editors have titled it) Divorce. (I'd prefer to think of it as a text about marriage--after all, it includes Jesus' lovely sentiment about "the two become one flesh.") Without hours of study, research, commentary-reading, and especially prayer, I'm not sure how to get into such a complicated topic that touches so many lives today (as, apparently, it also did then). I have friends whose lives have been torn apart by divorce; others who chose it amicably; and we also know of couples whose divorces seem an unfortunate but obvious outcome of hasty, ill-conceived, immature marriages.

So as I've been thinking about today's reflection, I realized that perhaps it is worthwhile to take a step back and look at the "big picture" of Mark 10... maybe there is a theme throughout the chapter that can give me a starting place for considering this specific text. On the way to Jerusalem, looking toward the triumphal entry next Sunday, do the teachings of chapter 10 build a foundation for what is to come?

I think so. In each of the stories of chapter 10, Jesus is taking societal expectations and turning them upside-down... trying to show, over and over again, how God's expectations are different. How God's expectations are real.

In this case, God's expectations are real for relationships between men and women, who were created "in the beginning" by a God of pure love, and who were created to share love in such a way that they are no longer two separate beings, but one. Of course it is absurd to think of taking apart what was shaped by the Creator to be one single unit.

Still, Moses knew when he gave the law, and I think Jesus knew when he gave this "refresher course," that human beings are notorious for holding ourselves to much lower ideals than God does. It was no secret even then that humans are prone to chronic hard-heartedness (not to mention hard-headedness), and that "exceptions to the rule" had been allowed by God--not necessarily because God likes it, but perhaps because God is graceful, and patient with our failings and our foibles, our lack of maturity, our missteps, our variability.

We know that divorce is, statistically, a huge issue in our culture, and people point fingers in many, many directions to try to place the blame for the dramatic numbers. We may look to Jesus, teaching in this text, for a simple, straightforward, black-and-white response. But I think perhaps Jesus's teaching here is more rich than a simple "yes or no"; I think the bigger lesson has more to do with being joined than being separated. It's a lesson not just about what God doesn't desire for us, but about what he does. He wants us to be joined together.

Being joined is about origins--how we were meant to be from the beginning. Being joined is about awareness--how we open our relationships to God's shaping. Being joined is about independence--how we move away from our childhood dependencies to turn our focus to one another. And being joined is about union--how we become one entity, and, as one, continue in our lifelong journey of becoming.

Lent, Day 32: On the team.

Today's reading: Mark 9:33-50

After a few weeks of being off-track on my daily reading schedule, today I am finally catching up--and what's more, I am incorporating tomorrow's designated scripture into today's reflection! (So, yes, tomorrow I am taking the day off!!!) Monday I'll pick up with Mark chapter 10, and barring any more computer glitches, we'll be good to go for the next two weeks 'til Easter Sunday!

I'd like to say, too, that today's topic was in no way influenced by the cultural phenomenon that is March Madness. Typically I try to refrain from sports analogies (I figure Christendom has plenty of those from the vast profusion of male preachers; my hunch is that sermon sports storytelling far outweighs stories about cooking, crafts, childbearing, etc.). When I looked at the scriptures for today, I noticed how Bible editors have split it into three distinct sections-- but obviously noone consulted me, because I think the three have a theme very much in common. When we read them as separate texts, we may miss it, but absorbed together, each of these "teachable moments" with Jesus seems to be a different facet of one stone: that is, what it means to be on the team.

To be on the team means no one is the greatest, and no one is first. (Or, looked at another way--everyone is the greatest, and everyone is first.) It means the leaders must be the servants. It means the least, the smallest are stand-ins for God's own self.

To be on the team means we're not the whole team. We're part of a body, but we're not the whole body. And the whole team doesn't look like us. It doesn't worship like us, it doesn't talk like us, it doesn't like the same music we do, it doesn't have the same problems we do. But to be on the team means we must learn to recognize our teammates, and we must be for one another.

To be on the team means calling on each other to be our best, strongest selves so that our team can be its best and strongest. We trust in God's redemption, and at the same time we hold high standards and know that for our own health we must remove ourselves from hurtful choices. We believe God holds us close, and know that we move must remove ourselves from those who would separate us from God.

And to be on the team means to maintain our shared character; among all our differences, to live up to the calling, the faith, the story that we share and that sets us apart from the world we play in. To be on the team, to share that life, means to be at peace together.

May the day come soon.