A Holy Saturday Letter

Typically we have written and sent out (or distributed electronically, as the case often is) our Easter letter by now (our version of a family Christmas letter). It clearly hasn't happened this year. And it's not going to happen at this point.

I confess that I feel a little guilty not writing one. Especially not spending one back to all the people who sent us a card at Christmas.

But I also just don't have the drive to do it this year. I often feel that the letter--while intending to keep in touch and share our lives with our friends--sometimes just turns into bragging. And while there's a lot to brag about (Beth's immense success in her academic endeavors, Nils' taking to hockey quite well, Anders' fantastic job at beginning on the violin despite his hate of practicing), it kind of feels like there's nothing worthwhile to share. And the fact is that if you're reading this, you've probably kept up with our lives via this blog or facebook. I should probably put time into writing each of you personally (though at this point in the school year, I just don't have much drive or energy--maybe in six weeks!).

*  *  *  *  *

I sometimes feel this unsettling tension about Holy Saturday. We've often attended a Good Friday service (as I did last night) remembering the suffering Jesus went through on the cross. Tomorrow, of course, we'll attend the Resurrection Sunday service at church remembering that He didn't stay dead, but arose. Holy Saturday sits in the tension between those events. The Apostles Creed states that Jesus spent this day in Hell (theologically, I believe death/Hell is separation from God which Jesus seemed to experience on the cross and in the grave).

To Jesus' followers it was the Sabbath Day--a day of rest. Nothing to do but sit and contemplate the events that had just transpired, hoping for a different outcome, somehow finding a way to be present enough to worship God.

We don't know what they did or experienced following the crucifixion: fear? anger? disappointment? worry? hope?

It seems that they were gathered together as was their habit. Maybe worshiping God. Maybe sitting in silent fear. Probably eating. But they were together.

It's a good habit, gathering together. It's one of the reasons we try not to travel around this weekend. While I love and miss my family, I like to have this holiday to be in our church with our family there. We often open up our home to those who aren't having an Easter meal elsewhere. But we gather together.

I hope that through this past Holy Week and into tomorrow's Resurrection Sunday, you will have found places to gather together whether it be with family, friends, or the people you regularly worship with. May togetherness be a place of comfort during times of grief, sadness, tension, or hope.

*  *  *  *  *

I'll end this "letter" of sorts by wishing you and your family a joyous Eastertide. Stop by and visit if you're in the Twin Cities (stay the night if you need). We'll have some food, play some games, and have some good time. Gathered together.

Love,

The Wenells

Good Friday

We are nearly at the end of our Lenten journey. Forty days ago my forehead was marked with the sign of the cross and the reminder, "Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, in dying we rise."  

Lent is a very counter-cultural concept. We don't like to focus on suffering, death, or our own mortality. Yet, we can't escape it.

This year during the Sundays of Lent our pastor has offered the opportunity to have ashes marked on our foreheads or palms if we so desire. I have been surprised that most of the young preschool and Kindergarten aged children are often the first in line.

For them, I'm guessing, there's something they connect with in the physical touch and symbol. Getting their head marked with an ashen cross is a way they can participate in worship.

Yet, it's also a disturbing juxtaposition: young life beginning to bloom being marked with death. I don't like to think about my own mortality, yet alone my children's. I don't want to think about the suffering and maybe even persecution that could face them some day.

Good Friday makes that inescapable, though. There is the cross. There is suffering. There is death. There is God's Son in the midst of it all, bearing it all upon Himself.

And it's my sins that put Him there. He died with the weight of my disobedience, lust, anger, fear, resentment, dishonesty, and pride holding Him to the cross. The cross was mine to bear. My actions are not always life-producing; my sins bring death to my soul. But He hung there in my place.

It doesn't make sense to me. I don't think I'm worth that. But Jesus did it not to shame or guilt me, but simply because He loves me. Love. Period.

As I see the Christ hanging there--bleeding, suffering, dying--I feel a deep sense of sorrow. Sorrow for my twisted nature. Sorrow that I don't quickly learn, but that I keep doing the same dumb things. Sorry for how I have hurt others through my sins.

But I also feel a deeper sense of gratefulness. I know I am loved. I know I am forgiven. I know that someday all will be made right. 

Holy Week

Crown of thorns, candle light, purple cloth

Palm leaves, ashes, cross

Ashes

Last week we kicked off Lent with Ash Wednesday. At the service we had the opportunity to go forward to receive the imparting of ashes on our foreheads or palms if we chose. In doing so we heard the words, "Ashes to ashes, dust to dust; in dying we rise."

The lenten season is usually associated with Jesus' temptation in the wilderness by Satan preceded by 40 days of fasting. We go through these 40 days of Lent to identify with Jesus' time in the wilderness as well as His preparation for the cross.

It also reminds of us of our mortality. Which isn't usually our favorite thing to think about. 

Tonight our pastor said we were going to do something different during Lent this year. During the blessing--the last song we sing--she will be having ashes available each Sunday during Lent. Along with the lenten associations already mentioned with the ashes, it also reminds us that God makes all things new.

My 9 year old went forward of his own volition tonight to receive the ashes. He had chosen not to go with to the Ash Wednesday service, but thought he'd get his forehead marked tonight instead. I was proud of him for doing so. I gave him a wink while he was in the line.

I didn't get a good chance to ask him about going forward tonight. I don't know what he gets out of it; I don't often know what I get out of it or if I understand the lenten journey much. I guess that's why it's a journey. I hope its the beginning of a good journey for my son as well.

Ash Wednesday Worship Service

I enter the chapel in darkness--
No, not darkness, but dimness
Which seems dark after a busy day.

Sights and sounds fill my senses:
Flickering votive candle lights within
Multi-colored glass,
Purple cloth adorning the walls
And draping over the cross,
The harsh reminder of
The crown of thorns,
Icons with glowing halos,
Crude, simple, poignant sketches
From the last week of Jesus' life,
Guitar strumming,
Violin bow hauntingly gliding,
Ancient words of the prophet read,
From the Psalms confession said...
Create a new and right heart.

Sorrow, tears.
Hope, love.
Longing.

Ashes imposed,
Forehead dirtied,
Trinity named,
Sign of the cross made.

Meditating.
Reflecting.
Silence.
Stillness.
Peace.

When God Was Silent

Last night we left the Good Friday service in silence as we usually do. And so we sit today, on Holy Saturday, in that silence. Though it is not so silent for us. We took the kids to an Easter egg hunt today. Then we met some friends at the Y for climbing and swimming.

That first Holy Sabbath following Christ's crucifixion would have been drenched in an uncomfortable silence for it was a day when God was silent.

The Son of God was dead--death placed him in Hades, separated from God.

The disciples sat together in stunned silence. I imagine they would have been unable to worship at the Temple that day. Their Messiah whom they expected to overthrow the oppressors was dead. God had not pulled through.

I'm guessing those who were witnesses were shook up after the confusion and chaos of Good Friday (what kind of person goes to a crucifixion anyway?). At least one centurion left questioning why an innocent man was executed. The religious leaders maybe left feeling smug or relived to have that troublesome Nazarene out of their way, but I have a feeling they were unsettled the next day.

And here we are. Last night we heard the story of the Son of God being hung on a cross, and it is not yet Easter morning. We all have times in our lives when God is silent. Several saints experienced years of it.

Like the disciples huddled in the upper room, we ask "What next?" It feels like God has abandoned us; His plans changed and He's not doing what we thought He'd do. It feels like all hope is lost. It feels empty and lonely.

And so we wait in the emptiness. Wait for God to speak again. Wait for answers. Wait for direction.

We can only be reassures that we are not alone in the waiting.

Born to Be Crucified

At school I like to spend my 30 minutes of break sitting outside. Our school is owned by a Catholic church and in their courtyard is a statue with a couple benches around it. The statue is of the Virgin Mary holding a very young Jesus. Yesterday, for the first time in several months, it was warm enough for me to go out and enjoy the sunshine, birds chirping, and fresh air.

It struck my during this Holy Week, the unease of sitting before the Christ Child--the very one whose birth we celebrated a few months ago--knowing we are about to mark His death on the church calendar. Uncomfortably I note that the babe, about whom we sing idyllic carols of praise at Christmas, was born for the purpose of dying. Of course, His purpose was much greater--to show us love and how to live. But God gave us His Son to be our sacrificial lamb--the Pascal Lamb the Jews slaughter each Passover because the lamb's blood saved them from being visited by the angel of death; the "lamb" (goat) the High Priest sacrificed on Yom Kippur to atone for sins.

I cringe knowing that the Infant Jesus will grow up only to be flogged, beaten, and nailed to a cross where He will die an agonizing death. I cringe because I know He did nothing to deserve such a death, but that He went to the cross willingly on my behalf. I cringe because it was my sins that put Him there.

* * * * * * *

Tonight is Maunday Thursday. It marks the eve when Jesus gathered with His closest friends. The eve when the Master disrobed Himself and washed His disciples grimy, dirty feet. The night when Jesus took the cup of wine and the Passover bread and gave thanks for them, despite their representation of His blood which would be poured out and His body which would be broken.

The name "Maunday" comes from the Latin maundatum, which means "commandment." That evening, while taking a towel and a basin of water and washing feet like a lowly servant, Jesus commanded His followers to do the same. To serve. To love.  

* * * * * * *

Tomorrow we will go to church to mark Good Friday. An odd name. Most would see nothing good about a man being sentenced to death--a death carried out upon a hill for all to see. A death where a naked man hangs nailed to wooden beams where he slowly asphyxiates as he can no longer breathe under the weight of his own body.

At that moment in time, the only goodness is the fact that the man is the Son of God. Yet even in that moment, God deserts Him.

His mother watches the scene unfold, unbelieving at what is happening. Her Son--the one whom the Holy Spirit placed within her, the one whom God said would be the Savior--was being crucified like a common criminal.

Her disciples were there--the ones who had followed Him for three years as their Master. The ones who had their feet washed by Him, who ate the bread and drank from the cup. The ones who had deserted, disavowed, and betrayed Him the night before.

And we are there, knowing it is because of our rebellion and disobedience that Jesus is in such agony. Yet it is also because of the greatest love in the world. And it is simply because of this love that we can even dare call such a scene "good."

Reading and Lent

I've been reading a book (which I'll talk about more in a later post) during Lent that is a series of talks given by Basil Pennington who was the abbot of the Cistercian monastery, Our Lady of the Holy Spirit in Georgia. His talks focused around the Rule of Benedict, which I've gotten to know in the last few years. Many monastics use it as a guide for their communal life. And it is just a guide. Benedict himself acknowledges that monasteries will need to adapt and disregard some of it as needed. Therein lies the genius: knowing that it shouldn't be overly-rigid.

Our church uses the Rule of Benedict as a guide for living together. Clearly, much of it needs to be adapted as we aren't monastics living under the same roof. But the principles are helpful. Like children learning from adults and vice versa. Like practicing hospitality. Like being obedient and seeking peace. Like valuing work and prayer.

One of the things I like about Benedict's rule is the sense of rhythm and his adjustment for the seasons. Like in the winter monks are permitted an earlier bed time since it gets dark earlier. And during holy days, the rhythm of the monastery changes. In chapter 48 Benedict says:

During the days of Lent, they should be free in the morning to read until the third hour, after which they will work at their assigned tasks until the end of the tenth hour. During this time of Lent each one is to receive a book from the library, and is to read the whole of it straight through. These books are to be distributed at the beginning of Lent. Above all, one or two seniors must surely be deputed to make the rounds of the monastery while the brothers are reading. Their duty is to see that no brother is so apathetic as to waste time or engage in idle talk to the neglect of his reading, and so not only harm himself but also distract others. (RB 48:14-18)

As a bibliophile I love the decree that there should be some focused reading time during Lent. I also chuckle at the suggestion to have to senior monks checking to make sure everyone is using that time wisely. Benedict's principle here, though, is that Lent is a time for inward reflection and growth.

* * * * * * *

Basil Pennington writes in his book Listen with Your Heart that "The meaning of Lent is a time when we really stop and ask ourselves, What is the meaning of it all? Who am I? What are we called to? It is a time to ask the deep questions and come to know the joy of life's meaningfulness."

It's a good quest to stop and ask those questions. Like much of the year, Lent tends to be full, so without intent I don't take the time to quiet myself and reflect (so I'm writing this post to help me make that time and think about those questions).

What questions are on your heart this Lenten season?

Art and the Stations of the Cross

For a few years now our church has invited everyone to make a Lenten art work--either one of the Stations of the Cross or a scene from the last week of Jesus' life depending on the year's focus. This year is the Stations of the Cross. Normally Anders, our constantly-drawing eight-year old, is the one who has made his own station. This year he didn't want to but our Kindergartener did.

He chose to do the scene where Jesus dies on the cross. He wasn't sure how to do it. He thought about drawing, but he wasn't sure that's what he wanted to do.

We've seen some creative stations in the past. There's usually one made from Legos every time. I brought up making some salt dough and sculpting the scene. First he started sculpting a stand-up scene. It took a while to convince him that the dough wouldn't make it standing up through the baking process and would likely get broken later if it did.

So he made a relief scene. It was important to him to include the two thieves dying on the cross next to Jesus since they were there when he died.

Mine was the station where John and Mary are in front of the cross. I don't paint well-enough to capture the scene, so I thought I'd go for a more representational approach. I don't confess to it entirely being a by-product of my own creative forces--I looked at some ideas online.

We were encouraged to think of a reflective question for the scene. For me it asks, "Who does Jesus ask you to take care of in their time of suffering? Who does Jesus give to take care of you when you are going through hardships?" Facing death, Jesus gave his mother to his dearest disciple; He told John to love Mary as his own mother. I think it was an intentional example as much as a practical need.


I haven't prayed through the prayer stations yet. The artistic process was a prayer for me. Not necessarily a good prayer, but a prayer nonetheless. 

Sometimes the prayer is having that part of the Lenten journey stay with us. I think for Nils, that's the case. He is beginning to know the story more deeply.

That may be part of the point of the Stations of the Cross--that those stories become part of our story, that the pain and suffering Jesus went through is something we can identify with in our pain and suffering. We know we're not alone. We begin to understand how greatly we are loved. We begin to belong in community. We begin to find the hope that is produced through the Lenten journey.

Lenten Art

We had the day off from school for parent-teacher conferences. After good reports regarding the boys' progress, we went to the Minneapolis Institute of Art. I took these photos there of some of the artwork that was representative of the Lenten journey:

The Temptation of Christ, Titian (Italian, 1516-1525)
a young demon is trying to tempt Christ to turn a stone into bread

Christ Driving the Money Changers from the Temple, El Greco (Spanish, 1570)

Man of Sorrows, Luis de Morales (Spanish, 1560)

The Crucifixion, Georges Rouault (French, c. 1920s)

 

Crucifixion with the Virgin, Saint John the Evangelist and a Clerical Donor; Lippo Vanni (Italian, 1350-1360)

Corpus, Master of Guadalcanal (1700)

Lamentation with Saint John the Baptist and Saint Catherine of Alexandria, Master of the Legend of Saint Lucy (Dutch, circa 1500)

Lamentation of Christ, Hans Schnatterpeck (Austrian, 1490s)

The Lamentation, Alessandro Turchi (Italian, 1617)

The Lenten Journey: Of Hens and Chicks

I have a hard time addressing God non-masculine terms.  It's not because I have a problem with God having a feminine side--I totally get that we were created male and female in God's image; therefore, He has a male and female side. This totally makes sense to me. But Jesus usually calls Him "Father" and uses mostly masculine terms. And I guess it's just how I relate to God. So forgive me if in using "He" and "Him" I alienate you.

I'm sure the disciples viewed Jesus as a man's man. Most of us do. He's the guy who took the whips and drove the money changers from the temple. He hangs out fishing with the guys. He calls Himself God's Son. What could be more manly than that?

So, it probably came as a shock to the disciples when Jesus said that He longed to "gather [Jerusalem's] children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings" (Luke 13:34, NIV). That's what we heard in today's Scripture message at church. 

And it wasn't a new thought. There are several places throughout the Bible where God is referred to in similar feminine terms--including like a hen. Psalm 94:1 says, "He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart."

So, it's a weird passage to come up in the Lenten journey (okay, there was more to the passage than Jesus being a hen), but sometimes--maybe most of the time--the Lenten journey is about discomfort.  The feminine side of the Trinity might be a bit upsetting of our normal perceptions. But we need to know the gentleness of God as well as His strength (though St. Frances de Sales would say there are the same). Maybe the discomfort is in seeing Him sacrifice His own Son (because He loves us, of course, but we still need to deal with the uneasiness of the fact). Maybe it's simply trying to understand how God can love us when we are so unlovable sometimes. For some it might be the whole image of God as Father--especially if your earthly father was absent or abusive.

Whether the feminine side of God is something you struggle with or not, let the image of the hen and her chicks bolster your perception of your standing with God. He loves you deeply. He covers you with His love. He shelters you. He is close enough to you that you could hear His heartbeat as His feathers brush against you. For me, the struggle is more of experiencing God in that way. I know this is there because I struggle with that in my human relationships--that others can't love me because of my shortcomings. 

I think oftentimes our struggles with our image of God come from our struggles with humans. We don't often see the feminine in a strong way among men our our Western culture (Eastern cultures sometimes do better with this). Masculine men have to be manly. Feminine men are labeled in homosexual terms (derogatorily, of course). Our cultural models don't exhibit strength through gentleness or power through caring. In God the best of masculine and feminine is present. And all of that is wrapped up in love.

* * * * *

What's struggles do you have with how you view God? How do they connect to your human relationships?

Ashes to Ashes

My son went with me to the Ash Wednesday Taize service at church tonight. He had expressed interest in it earlier in the week when I mentioned it (he hasn't gone to one before). Tonight he was a little resistant to going (it may have had something to do with the Valentine's Day cards my wife brought home from Target tonight that contained mustache tattoos). I drug him along anyway (he has a tendency to not want to do something when it's actually time to do it).

He sat and drew during most of the songs and scripture, but he tends to listen well that way. I think he sung most of the chants as he drew. And he was interested in going up to have the ashes crossed on his forehead.

I asked what he thought of it on the way home. He liked it, but he wasn't sure he got all of it. But who among us does? Even in understanding the meaning behind all of it, there's a lot of it that eludes us on this side of the grave. Which is good. Mystery keeps faith alive.

He liked the candles. He said he wanted to paint a picture of the ones hanging on the wall (so I took a picture of them for him). As we were leaving he also spent some time looking at the crown of thorns and the icons of Jesus that were in the front of the chapel.

* * * * *

On Monday morning I woke up to news that a friend from church had died. He was the father of a good friend of ours. I've only known him for less than three years. I had hoped to get to know him better. He was the kind of man you wanted to be around. He had joy. He had happiness. He had wisdom. He was an outdoorsman. He had an air of mystery to him.

His death came suddenly--and thankfully, fairly painlessly. But it was too early (or so it feels on this side of Heaven).

We gathered together at church last night for our Shrove Tuesday pancake supper (fine--we just call it Pancake Tuesday). It's an old tradition, a way of using up all the rich and fattening (hence Mardi Gras--Fat Tuesday) food in your pantry--butter, sugar, eggs, milk--before Lent. We pile on the traditional sugar with lemon juice, fruit and whip cream, Nutella and whip cream, or whip cream and whip cream. Sometimes we have pancake flipping races.

Last night we gathered outside afterward and had a short prayer service for the burning of last year's palm branches, creating the ashes used tonight. Afterward we said some prayers for our friends who had last their husband, father, grandfather.

* * * * * 

We begin the Lenten journey by hearing the words

Ashes to ashes,
Dust to dust,
In dying we rise.

We are reminded of our mortality ("you are dust"). Death is before us. We can't escape it. But their is hope. We have a choice. Eternity stands before us. 

Tomorrow, as friends gather for the memorial service for our friend (I unfortunately can't get away from work to be there), they will likely hear reminders of this. They will celebrate the life of a godly man who is with his risen Savior now.

Along with our mortality we hold before us in Lent our identification with a suffering Savior. This is the intent behind "giving something up for Lent." We fast (if we do) in order to hold before us the journey Christ went through to the cross. It is a journey of death, a journey of life, a journey of love.

* * * * * 

I'd love to hear your comments on what Ash Wednesday means to you.

Holy Week in Art

A series of artworks from the Minneapolis Institute of Art:

The Betrayal of Christ by Anthony van Dyck (c. 1620)

Man of Sorrows by Luis de Morales (c. 1560)

Corpus by the Master of Guadalcanal (c. 1700)

A sanctuary curtain from a Coptic church (5th-6th century)The Crucifixion by a follower of Lucas Cranach (c. 1575)

Lamentation with Saint John the Baptist and Saint Catherine of Alexandria
by Master of the Legend of Saint Lucy (c. 1500)

Good Friday

Another drawing that Anders made last night during church illustrates Good Friday. The Roman soldiers are in the lower left. I believe the lower right corner shows some of the women crying over what is happening. I'm not sure why, but the crucifixion appears to be taking place in the clouds with a rainbow--which maybe is fitting as the rainbow was a sign of God' promise not to destroy the earth by flood. But in this case it shows God saving the earth through blood. At the bottom are two speech balloons that show exactly why such a horrible event can be called "Good Friday." Jesus is saying "I love you." And the smaller balloon is from God saying, "Me too."

Yes, it is our sins--our evil, perverse, vile deeds against God, against each other and even against ourselves--that put Jesus on the cross. It was a horrible place for the son of God to be--one of the most terrible forms of death. But He went through it for our sake. Because He loves us and desires to spend eternity with us. Amen.

Maundy Thursday: Why Me?

Maundy: from the Latin mandatum; meaning commandment; as in "A new commandment I give to you: Love each other" (John 13:34)

Anders drew this picture tonight during our Maundy Thursday service at church. Jesus is saying, "I will wash your feet." Peter is off to the side replying, "Why me?"

It indeed is a "Why me?" moment. Why would the Creator of the universe stoop so low as to cleans my dirty, stinky feet? Answer: He loves me. He loves you. He loves us all.

Tonight, as we washed each others' feet at church, we first went to the table. Alone (though I went with the boys to help them). Jesus was our host as we took the bread and dipped it in the cup. It was another "Why me?" moment. Why do I get to come to the table, sinful as I am? Again: He loves me.

Sometimes when I come to the table I am Judas--willing to betray Jesus. Sometimes I am Peter--headstrong and thick-headed. Sometimes I am Thomas--needing a little more proof. Sometimes I am James and John--wanting my place beside Jesus. All twelve disciples were there at the table. None came perfect. Most didn't get Jesus until well after He had risen. But He loved them. And in their imperfect ways, they loved Him (I believe even mis-directed Judas had love for Jesus). The table was for them. To remember Him.

It was there at the table that they would learn to take up their cross. Indeed, the majority of them would be put to death for their faith. Taking up their cross wasn't just a figure of speech--it was a reality. And along the way, they learned to wash feet--to serve each other, even the lowliest among them.

And tonight, as we washed each other's feet--as my young sons washed my feet--I was caused to remember that I was the lowliest there. There is nothing special about me. Nothing that elevates me above anyone else. But God loves me. And that's more than enough. And it's reason to love others--and wash their feet.

Lenten Art

Our church has prayer stations every week for people to make use of during worship (mainly during times when we're singing--including during communion as we go to the table in small groups so not everyone is there at the same time). There are various stations at different times. Some are tactile and sensory (like the confession stations where you choose a stone and press it into a bowl of sand) and most appeal to the children (like the station where you may pick a loop with ribbons and dance to the worship music).

During each week of Lent stations of the cross are brought out adding more each week. People from church signed up for different stations. Anders, Beth and I each signed up for one (I'm going to be in trouble here because I didn't get a picture of Beth's piece).

Anders is an excellent artist, and he agreed when I suggested he do one of the stations. He chose #2: Jesus takes up His cross. I was curious to see what his drawing would look like. He did some nice ones of the Nativity. But he wasn't up for drawing the picture. He wasn't sure how to do it. So, while we were looking for pictures of station #2 online, we came across an artist who did all the stations using hand prints. A subsequent trip to my parents' farm got us a nice weathered piece of lumber. His station turned out simple but eloquent, I feel.
It will say different things to different people, but for me it says that "taking up our cross" isn't an easy task. It's toilsome, dangerous and even lethal.

My station was #4: Jesus meets His mother. I struggled with how to portray it for a while. I ended up focusing on Mary and the emotional impact that Good Friday must have been for her.

There are times when I have that emotional reaction to "seeing" Jesus carry His cross. For Mary it must have been heart-wrenching to see her son going to be crucified for no legal reason. He was going to His death because He claimed to be God. And Mary, though she probably wrestled with understanding Who her son really was, must have had some belief that Jesus was right in what He said. She had been handpicked by God, after all.

Of course, each piece may say something entirely different to you. Or nothing at all. That is the nature of art. It is not like a book in which one can sometimes clearly understand the author's point. Art is an expression both by the artist and by the viewer. Lent speaks to us all in different ways as well. But there is one clear message through it all: God loves you more deeply than you can imagine. We don't always interpret that message well, but it's there. Hopefully at the end of this Lenten journey that message is a little more meaningful.

Lenten Reflections: Week One

Today was a warm day for Minnesota in March. We're supposed to see 40s and 50s most of the week. The snow is starting to thin back (the three to four foot piles are down to two feet). Grass is showing around the edges. It rained a little bit today amidst a mostly sunny day. I've hung clothes on the line several times this past month. We're on the cusp of a new season.

Of course, with the thaw comes not only flowers and green grass, but all the litter that has been buried this winter (or just tossed on the sidewalk today). Spring is refreshing, but it's seldom clean--which usually made it all the more fun for us as kids. Puddles to splash in, mud to carve river channels through, dirty remnants of snow drifts. But the litter that arises in the city just reminds me that that pure, white snow could only hide our dirty habits; it couldn't cleanse us.

Rain can be cleansing. I can also just melt the snow and leave all the trash behind along with mud everywhere. Most of Minnesota is preparing for the flooding that we're assured will come with the Spring thaw. Water can be restorative and life-giving. It can also be horrendously destructive.

This past week the world watched as Japan was hit by the fifth most powerful earthquake in recorded history along with a massive tsunami that literally wiped out entire villages. The images were heart-breaking and devastating (and at the same time a bit fascinating as we saw the sheer power of what was unleashed). None of us can imagine; all of us want to help.

And surrounding all of this is the Lenten journey. Some of us fast or give things up during Lent to help us identify with Jesus' suffering. But the pictures of Japan on the news are constant reminders that most of us know little about real suffering. Giving up chocolate for a few weeks is nothing compared with having your loved ones and all you have washed out to sea.

Still, Lent is not about comparing our woes with others' but about focusing on Christ and learning more about ourselves. I have been giving up social networking: mostly Facebook as I still haven't figured out how I would use Twitter. I didn't give it up because in doing so I would find suffering, but I did so because I know it can become a large distraction for me during my days.

I do miss some of the friends I connect with during the week on Facebook. But it is nice to not have the diversions that Facebook brings about (especially as I am trying to get a sermon finished for Sunday). The thing I miss most, though, I noticed today, are the email notifications I get when someone posts on my wall or when they respond to something I posted.

I like to get things in the mail, too. Sometimes I think I order used books online (instead of checking them out from the library) because I like the anticipation of knowing the mail carrier will one day deliver a package for me. But I think I enjoy getting the email notifications from Facebook because it's kind of an ego trip. I like it when someone enjoys something I've said. I like it when someone is thinking about me and sends me a note. Part of me still has that high-school-desire to be popular. I want to be liked. I want to be wanted. And this isn't a bad thing. But I can't let that desire overshadow who I am called to be.

And so my Lenten journey continues, and I continue to learn more about myself as I look upon the Messiah who made His way to Jerusalem, knowing that His journey would end on Golgotha. As I discover more about myself--my struggles, faults and weaknesses especially--I can also discover who Christ calls me to be. More like Him (and paradoxically that means more like me). A servant. A lover. A beloved. If I have said I will follow Him (if I claim to bear the name "Christian"), then I must be willing to be like Him for that's what being a disciple means, that we live to learn the ways of our Master. It won't be an easy road ahead. But it will be a good road. And I will be in good company.

Ashes to Ashes

It's the first day of Lent. Growing up it was mainly just Holy Week that had significance in our church. I don't remember ashes at all, at least. Some churches shy away from holy days like Ash Wednesday as if the liturgical calendar was something dangerous. And maybe it is. Maybe celebrating some of these days draws us into the life of Christ a little too much. Maybe identifying with Christ too much can change our earthly ways. And that can be dangerous.

Anyway, I'm discovering a lot as I journey into new experiences on the journey. Tonight we buried our alleluias. Most churches I've been in haven't even used the word "alleluia" much. But it is a joyful word; a celebratory word (it means "Praise God"). So, during the somber journey of Lent, we bury the word (tonight we placed ribbons with the word "alleluia" on them into a chest that will return on Easter morning when we say the word in worship again).

Last night the palm leaves from last year's Palm Sunday were burned. Tonight we took those ashes on our thumb and made a cross on the forehead of the person sitting next to us. The ashes remind us that life is short (Genesis 3:19); they also symbolize our repentance before God (Daniel 9:3). There are few greater reminders of one's mortality than having your young son place ashes on your forehead while saying, "Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. You are God's loved child." And so the Lenten journey begins...

Of Pancakes and Fasting

It is Shrove Tuesday. Which means it's time for an installment of "Weird Words Used in Christianese." Shriving means making, going to or hearing confessions or to obtain absolution by confessing and doing penance. The week before Lent is sometimes called "Shrovetide" which was a time to go to confession in preparation for the penitential season of turning to God.

I've never done anything for Shrove Tuesday before, but a friend of ours at church is sharing the English tradition of pancakes on Tuesday (stemming from when people cleaned all the fattening foods out of their kitchen--eggs, butter, etc.--in preparation for the fasting of Lent during which they avoided those luxuries). I'm discovering a lot of people do pancakes today--I just never experienced that growing up. Some of the world today is partying hard--binging on "sins" before Ash Wednesday, as if Jesus' suffering was an invitation to indulge in order to enjoy the full extent of His grace. The celebratory nature of the day stems from releasing high spirits before entering the somber season of Lent. Others are preparing for Lent by deciding what they're going to give up (here's a somewhat humorous cynical list of things to give up for Lent).

Lent is intended to help us identify with Christ's sufferings. We journey to the cross with Him. Following the season of Epiphany in which we are reminded to be light, shining God's love to the world, Lent is a season of inward reflection, examining the things in our lives that don't bring us closer to God (for sin is anything that distracts us from God). We may give up something that we really enjoy (chocolate, caffeine, etc.), but the intent is to identify with Christ and draw closer to Him.

So for Lent I intend to give up Facebook. Not because Facebook is evil. Nor because I feel that I have to give something up in order to be a good Christian. And not that giving up Facebook will cause me to suffer. I'm giving it up because it becomes easy during my day to get distracted on Facebook and neglect other more important things (and while keeping in touch with friends is important, there are more effective ways I can do that if I desire). I may also have to give up watching BBC comedies on PBS late at night because they keep me from getting the rest I need to start the day well the next morning (and maybe early enough to spend some time with God).

But first we'll gather with friends, eat pancakes, have some pancake races and enjoy the day. For tomorrow the fast begins as we prepare for remembering the day of Jesus' death...and then the glory of His resurrection!