What Lent Really Is, a response

Today's clarification is based on a conversation with a good friend, Jason Laurie over at School of Fish, who I respect for many reasons.  One of which is that while we heartily disagree on many topics (probably more than we agree on), we remain friends.  Yep, that's possible.  We have spirited discussions, albeit mostly via the interwebs due to a proximity issue, push on the weak spots of the other's argument, and still treat one another as equals who deserve respect.  Thus without further ado, I give you Mr. Laurie's perspective on Lent, followed by mine.  
   
          || Lent means something in particular and it does not mean to the Roman Catholic (leadership) what we have made it into on the Protestant side.  It is yet another sacrament in Romanism and sacraments, not observances, are let’s just say problematic for me.  “The two elements which are especially characteristic of Lent – the recalling (a nice way of saying renewing or redoing) of baptism or the preparation for it, and penance” – Vatican Council II.  Since AD 325 Lent has been celebrated for “renewing baptismal commitment.”  Baptism in Rome is not baptism in Protestantism it is a sacrament.  I don’t think it’s accurate to compare Lent to the order of service and of course baptism and communion are biblical so that doesn’t work and we don’t celebrate either as sacraments anyway.  Furthermore, Roman Catholics don’t give up things to point to Christ but: to point to how an extremely watered down gospel (an unsaving one in my opinion) that puts salvation on human perseverance, punishment and indulgences is more obvious to participant thus forcing them into rebaptism so they can be [sic] be “resaved” after a period of reflection leads them to better understand how they have wronged the Roman Catholic church.

            Most of my friends, obviously including yourself, do participate and it’s probably okay, but it is a conscience issue in my mind and I can’t in good faith participate in a religion that I believe is adverse to the true Christ. ||

For the sake of continuity, I will start with where we do agree: 


Like Mr. Laurie, I do not believe that sacraments have salvific properties, nor will they cause me to be ‘holier’ in God’s eyes, for God only sees me through Christ; I am hidden in Him through my faith and thus deemed righteous.  Neither do I believe that good works will assure my standing as righteous before God.  If my so-called good works could get me in, undoubtedly my bad works would get me kicked out! 


I do not believe that any church can effect my standing before God either, Roman or otherwise.  Thus, my loyalties lie in Christ alone – no human can save me from my sins.  Excepting, of course, the fully Divine \and equally\ fully human person, Jesus Christ.  He is the only Savior. 

I also agree that the sacraments within the Roman Catholic tradition have been considered to have inherent salvific properties that are antithetical to the gospel of Christ; thus the Catholic Church places too great an emphasis on sacraments.  However, I believe that in our Protestant, knee-jerk reaction to avoid any semblance of association with salvific sacraments, we threw the proverbial baby out with the bath water.  {This is where I refrain from saying anything about how the catholic – universal – church existed centuries before Luther was born, and is the stem from which modern Protestantism grew; the root obviously being Judaism.  But again, I am refraining.}  The practices and creeds of the early catholic church were both formative and protective; and I believe that when the Roman Catholic Church loyalties have been sifted out, are still of great benefit to individuals and the whole Church alike.   

As such, I will continue to use the word "sacrament," for in contemporary vernacular it is defined as: “An important Christian ceremony (such as baptism or marriage)” Mirriam-Webster // “Ecclesiastical.  A visible sign of inward grace.” Dictionary.com.  Thus, baptism and communion are sacraments within the Protestant traditions.  I would further clarify that these practices are also expectations within the Protestant church because once we pronounce our faith in Jesus Christ, we are admonished to make this a public declaration by participating in the act of baptism and partaking of communion.  We expect followers of Christ who wish to become a new family unit to participate in the sacrament of marriage; in fact, we know it is sinful for two consenting adults to have intimate relations outside of this sacrament.  Therefore, the ceremony has spiritual ramifications for each person's soul.  Thus giving credence to my argument against the position held by Mr. Kassis.           

I am continually convinced that we, who follow Christ in less liturgical ways, can find value in these ancient practices.  Is it not beneficial to me to recall – renewing or reaffirming – my baptism?  As I am baptized in Christ, would not my reaffirmation be to Him as well?  We agree that baptism has no salvific properties; it is an outward sign of inward grace. 


In our western, Protestant culture, we renew wedding vows to celebrate milestones in our marriages.  This renewal does not void the previous commitment, nor extend it; rather, the renewal honors the original and celebrates it.  In this celebration we again chose to stand in front of those whom we love, those who would hold us accountable to our promises, and publically declare our commitment to this person with our entire lives.  Does Protestant baptism differ from this?  Would we do wrong by reaffirming our commitment to Christ?  Like marriage vows, I believe we would not; I also believe this reaffirmation is not a requirement.  It is, as I said before, a way to honor and celebrate the original.[1]  This type of somber meditation does not imply that one's baptism "didn't take."  Rather, it expresses the desire of a sinful person to remember their sins, the cost of these transgressions, and the power of the Resurrection of our Risen Lord and Savior.        

Further, I see both examples of Protestant baptism as circumstantially dependent, and therefore relevant.  These being: spontaneous baptism (which is found in Scripture) and an examined, albeit delayed, baptism.  Thus, for congregations who practice examined baptism, isn’t the time leading up to this particular event akin to Lent?  Are we not exhorted to recall our sins and the price Jesus paid for them, so that we may be born again and baptized into new life in Him?      
   

As for penance (which was originally the sacrament of confession), we agree that it does nothing to improve, or detract from, our standing with God.  Christ alone is our righteousness.  However, I do see great benefit for me to be immediately and intimately aware of the price of my sins.  For they cost Christ’s blood.  Should I not be brokenhearted over the grief I cause the Holy Spirit when I sin?  Should I not recognize the pain I have caused the Father in that He gave the life of His Only Son to pay for the damage I have inflicted?  Further, as Jesus succinctly summed up the greatest commandment and its second (“Love your God with all your heart, mind, and strength…and the second is like it, ‘love your neighbor as yourself.’”), should I not strive towards reconciliation with those whom I have wronged, so far as I am able to do so without inflicting further harm?  Even to the extent that this reconciliation might require some sacrifice from me? 


Is that not the love of Christ, to give sacrificially of one’s self for the sake of another?

As you well know, I am not Roman Catholic, thus my Lenten practices are not to express my loyalty thereto; nor are they intended to better my standing with any church.  I do hope that my practices will improve, in me, my loyalty to the Church, Christ's bride; for something my Lord loves so much is also something I should aspire to love.   My Lenten practices are to recall, in my body, mind, and spirit, the miracle that is Easter; to strain, with all that I am, away from wordly distractions, reaching ever more toward the power and beauty and hope that is the Resurrection of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.

                  This is Lent. 

It is death – me trying daily to die more to myself so that Christ may live more fully in me. 

It is resurrection – all things being made new: me, my relationship with my Heavenly Father and my relationships here on earth, the relationships between all humanity, the relationship between humanity and creation. 

It is victory – recalling that the Spirit of Almighty God resides in me, as He does in every believer, so that neither death nor demons nor any part of creation may ever separate me from my Heavenly Father again. 

It is hope – the truth that what has been broken will be made whole, what was been wounded will be healed, what has been wronged will be made right.  Now and in the Time to Come. 

It is a way to celebrate who Christ is and who we are in Him.               

          Lord, have mercy on us.  Christ, have mercy on us.  Amen.

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[1] People in recovery ministries celebrate their sobriety by telling their stories on their anniversaries.  If we look at life in Christ through this lens, we might do well to remember our “before and after” lives, tell the stories of each, and celebrate with others our recovery from sin and death, so that we can now walk in life and truth.  Similar to the practice of “sharing our testimony;” which is one element by which the enemy is overcome.  As we contemplate Easter, would this also not be a timely practice?  Remembering what our sins cost – the cross – and then proclaiming what it has won – our lives.

All of me ~ for Lent

It’s the second day of Lent.  You already know that.  By now, you’ve likely read what everyone else is giving up, adding, and practicing for the next 40 days.  Perhaps you have some disciplines of your own that you’re using to observe the season leading up to Easter.  You may have read articles such as this one, posted at Patheos, extolling the spiritual benefits of Lenten observations.  Or this heavy-hitter by Krista Dalton reminding us that care for the poor is how we are to worship God and draw nearer Christ. 

Though it’s possible you swing the other way, as Daniel Kassis articulates in “What is a Protestant to Make of Lent?”  Wherein he remarks, as is popular thought among many fundamental evangelicals, the signature mark of freedom in Christ is being “set free from observances, expectations, and demands that come from religious obligation;” meaning there is “no need to follow such practices, as they have no power to make us holier or ‘closer to God.’”[1] 

I’ve written on this topic before, but for the sake of clarity I’ll be brief: that’s crap.  Yes, we are only holy {read: set apart, righteous} through our faith in Jesus Christ.  However, as Christ-followers, we all have observances, expectations, and demands—Communion or baptism, anyone?  How about the order of service: three worship songs during which the congregation stands, a sermon delivered while the audience sits, congregants singing one more song, and then everybody goes home?—to which we adhere in our worship of God.  I remind my anti-liturgical sisters and brethren that if we claim to follow Christ, we are religious.  But not to worry, Jesus was religious, too.  He observed feasts and holy days and Sabbaths; he fasted and prayed, and told his followers to do the same.  Because, as fully Divine and fully Human, the Lord Jesus Christ knew that humans need disciplines to get their minds, bodies, and spirits to stop focusing on themselves and draw their attention to God.  We need rhythms and seasons and practices to get our wayward minds and wandering hearts back to where they’re supposed to be: focusing on God and caring for each other. 

This is what happens when we do Ash Wednesday at home.

I am again this year aiming for a holistic approach: body, mind, spirit, and hope. 

·         Body: I am practicing clean eating.  To heal the damage my gluttony has caused.  Lord, have mercy.

·         Mind: I am reading Wright’s tome on Pauline theology and the corresponding scriptures.  To find unity and justice in the words meant to guide and form us, in these Now-and-in-the-Time-to-Come days.  Christ, have mercy.

·         Spirit:  I am turning off my nightly television and replacing my shows with Psalms and Proverbs.  I am fasting and praying on behalf of a dear friend; I will do so for a brave group of women setting out on a pilgrimage towards healing.  I am praying and memorizing a prayer, by St. Francis of Assisi, which I will share with you in days to come.  To bend my life more into Christ’s likeness.  Lord, have mercy.

·         Hope: I am working on a project that has long lived in my heart, to be completed by Easter.  It is in faith that I look toward this finish line and the usefulness of this project; that people may know the fullness of hope that is Jesus Christ in them.  Christ, have mercy. 

Because Lent illuminates our fallen-ness.

Because Lent leads to sacrifice.

Because Lent is, ultimately, about hope.

Hope that we can be Christ to the poor and outcast and hurting.  Hope that we can put aside our different ideas and care for each other.  Hope that no matter the circumstance, we can offer the love and healing of our Lord Jesus Christ.

 

Amen.   

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[1] http://www.fencepostblog.com/2011/03/what-is-the-protestant-to-make-of-lent/

Failing Lent

The sink is full of dishes.  Again.  And overflowing onto the counters, and stove, and all the way ‘round the kitchen until they butt up against the impressive tower of papers, books, notes, and all variety of odds and ends that collect there.  To think, just two weeks ago, a sweet friend constructed and gifted me with an organization system to tame that part of my chaos.  Her gift, sadly, is sitting in a pile in the study nook/living room, surrounded by tottering piles of textbooks, more papers, and testamental dictionaires.  There are piles everywhere.  The rec room is buried under clean clothes waiting to be folded; the laundry room is swallowed by dirty ones waiting to be washed.  The bathrooms have piles of get-ready-so-we-can-get-out-the-door messes, and splotches of un-wiped toothpaste; the kids’ rooms are interwoven tapestries of toys and clothes.  Boots, hats, coats, and bags clutter up the stairs; more toys laundry and luggage are beginning to devour my room. 

And that’s only the state of the house.  One can’t escape the endless reading lists for class, the papers and responses, the I-should-be-at-least-start-on-my-big-papers-so-I’m-not-freaking-out-later that claws at the throat in the quietest moments.  Kids’ activities to be managed, scheduled, shuffled, and remembered.  I can’t forget that I’m also a wife, which requires more than a flying out the door peck on the check, because I’m too late to aim for your lips; and a friend – even if all I ever seem to do is say that I’m praying over you; and a daughter and sister and niece and grand-daughter – yep, praying for y’all, too!  And what about that bible study we told everyone we would host this semester?  We had it all planned out; well mostly.  And yes, Lord, I hear you tugging at my heart about joining – actively participating in, giving parts of myself to – a community of your followers; but can You find one that meets when I can?  And instead of adding to my reading, can’t I just go and listen?  Oh, yeah, Lord, about that promise to work-out every day…does sleep count? 

It’s not even two weeks into Lent and the oppressive I’m-failing-at-everything has curled up on the sofa and refuses to budge; more grafted-in family member than uninvited guest anymore.  And who wants to fail God?  It’s not so much that I think I’ll lose His love in my broken promises or undone chores or missed opportunities; but I do think that in these, I fail to make Him proud.  Like I’m not earning my keep, or taking advantage of all the gifts He’s so lavishly laid before me; that I’m squandering my time and treasures, or that I’m hoarding these things and somehow disappointing Him. 

But I hear the Father’s voice, repeating Himself across my kitchen table and in the texts for class, because sometimes I have to hear things more than once before I really listen. 

God can’t love you any less than He does right now;

He can’t love you any more, either.

The Father loves you no matter what you do or don’t.

The student in me pauses, rolls the theory over and over in my head – it’s awfully small a thing to be such a big truth.  I hold it up against the scriptures, just to be sure – does the whole counsel of God agree to this, or is it a pithy thing that placates followers like me who can’t get it together? 

{Matthew 3:13-17}

But there it is, at the very beginning of Jesus’ ministry – before the resurrection, before the cross, before the miracles, before He even read from the scroll of Isaiah or said “ego emi.”  Before any of it, the “Father declare[d] that he [was] already ‘well pleased’ with His ‘beloved Son’ without reference to his works.”*  The Father loved the Son unconditionally; not for being incarnate; not for enduring the cross; not because Jesus followed God’s will without fail; not for Christ’s work with the poor and oppressed and forgotten.  The Father loved the Son.  That’s it.

And so it is with me.  And you.  There is nothing I, or you, could ever do to earn this love.  There is nothing I, or you, could do to maintain this love.  This is a love that is completely outside of you and me.  We have no power over it.  It is there on the days we fail; it is there on the days we nail it.  It was there before we knew it; it’s there when we can’t feel it.  It is a love that, before we even knew we needed it, goes to the cross on our behalf.  And bleeds for us, dies for us. 

And lives for us.      

There is nothing for us to do, but accept it.  To wrap it around our lives.  To live in it and out of it. 

So it is with Lent.  There is nothing for us to do, but live in wonder and awe at a love so big that it covers us, every day – good and bad, failing or nailing it.  Every single day we are loved with a vast and unwavering love that is not conditional upon us; but is a love that is a who-God-is love.  And that love is the reason for Lent.       

 

*Sanders, The Deep Things of God

Coram Deo: a theology of presence

Again Lent crept up, silent and unassuming.  And rather suddenly, as it is wont to these past few years.  There it is, tucked into the middle of my week, the day before Valentines; and I’m supposed to know exactly which spiritual disciplines will best lead me to what end for the growth and betterment of my soul.       

I wonder if that’s how the desert found Christ.  If He was walking, purposed on being close to the Father after His baptism, looked up and suddenly He was in the desert.  As He intended to be, no doubt; but did He intentionally note the crossing of the line from society to wilderness.  Or was it just something that happened as He considered His Father’s words to Him?

Whatever the case, I prayed yesterday, as I hung red and silver whirly-gigs from my ceiling, and draped all conceivable surfaces with hearts, that the Holy Spirit would lead me into this Lent with insight as to what I ought to do.  For there is much on my mind and heart this Lenten season, not so external as last year, more internal; and I have been seeking means for addressing the shifting in my spirit and I just knew that Lent would pair so well with this pursuit.  And I prayed again, driving through fog and traffic on the way to class on this day of commercialized love; wishing I wasn’t already a day behind in the liturgical calendar, so that it felt like failing to even be asking.       

And in my own head, I came up with a few good and decent ideas:

·         Practice self-care for 40 days – Because I have a tendency to neglect myself in certain ways; and this neglect shows a poor respect for the gift of my physical body, a poor theology of time and of humanness, and, frankly a disrespect for the price Christ paid to free me from sinful behaviors and attitudes concerning an anti-gnostic view of me.  Thus, I had concluded the following would be my means of practice:

o    consume only Paleo food and drink [like the Daniel fast, only with lean meat proteins and omitting grains]

o    engage in physical activity every day

o    nap when I need it

o    get enough water

o    go to bed at a decent hour

o    Give up alcohol*

 

·         Memorize scripture – A good discipline to ground my thoughts and deeds and days in God’s Word; to have it available when I need it; to let the Holy Spirit work through the scriptures directly on my heart.

o    Find 4 sections (not verses, but passages that include the contextual emphasis) of scripture – the trouble I was running into was: which passages?

o    Devote 10 days to the memorization of each passage

o    Write them on my mirror, make flip cards, tuck them into my books for school, etc...so they would be constantly before my eyes and on my mind.

 

·         Give up make-up for 40 days – If you know me, this doesn’t sound like much of a stretch.  But when I wear it, it is representative both my desperate attempts to control a tiny bit of the situation I’m in, and my warped theology of beauty (how I want people to view me and how I am programmed to view myself with and without it).  Even I was surprised to find myself balking at the very idea.  It was a telling few moments of my commute.  

Each of these is a good idea. Thus, I had decided to implement them together, in a holistic self-care Lenten regimen.  I was contemplating the lateness of my Lent’s beginning (Ash Wednesday was yesterday) as I pulled into the parking lot; and having an internal argument as to whether Valentine’s celebrations could count as “non-Lent-ish” since a piece of chocolate cake and a glass of wine were in my plans for this evening.  Shouldn’t I keep my make-up on for the Officer, if this was my last day of it for a month; and who wants to workout on Valentine ’s Day anyway?    

I walked into class, as is so often the case, completely unaware of what God was going to do in that space – just for me. 

Yes, I know how selfish it sounds to say that God did something only for me, in a graduate course full of students and visitors with their lives full of God-needs, too.  But He has done it over and over again—knocked the wind out of me through the prayer of a teacher, or through the wisdom of a professor, or through the insight of a classmate.  Maybe because it’s there, in those rooms, at those times, am I really listening and really believing all of what God says about who He is.  Or maybe it’s because these people, in that place, listen to Him well and bring Him with them in their hearts and their words.  Or maybe it’s just because.    

We’d discussed it before; and will no doubt again.  But today in the professor’s prayer, in my heart, in the talk about what we believe about God and how our lives are lived out of this belief, however well-formed or poorly represented; today, it struck me as exactly what I was hoping for in my Lent.

Coram Deo :

-- carried out before, or in the presence of, God.

{Isaiah 40:9-31}

The professor read the whole of Isaiah 40:9-31 aloud, over us.  I could hear my Father’s voice in my heart; within me, my spirit responded.  As this reality of who God is was pouring over me, I asked the question: is every aspect of my life conducted coram deo; and I knew the answer is not fully and wholly, “yes.”  I am still trying to control so much of it.  Every day.  And there are deep places in me that cry out still for the fullness of the gospel to reach them; like so many petals needing to be peeled away so that light can finally reach the center.

 

So that what was left after this sounding of my spirit was the realization that the practices I had purposed earlier wouldn’t merely do – they were exactly what I needed.

·         If I truly believe that God created me, and has ransomed me for His own, then I need to practice self-care.  It is not a selfish pursuit.  Nor should it wear the trappings of vanity; for the moment I think, “I want to be skinnier/prettier/firmer/etc…” I move from stewardship to sin.  I must care for this physical and temporal body not because it’s the vessel that holds my soul, but because my body is as much me as my heart and mind and spirit.  Each was made by God, with only me in mind.  And each should be cared for because they were made by God – not because I want the world to respond to me in a certain way. {Self-care} 

·         If I truly believe that God inspired humans to write down His words, centuries apart in different context for different audiences using different genres and literary devices, then I need to seek His voice therein.  If I truly believe that somehow, incomprehensible to me, His Spirit and Power are alive in His Word, then oughtn’t I devote time and energy to tucking these into my being – into my mind and heart?  {Memorize Isaiah 40:9-31}

·         If I truly believe that God is the Creator of the universe and time; and that He is the orchestrator of all good things, should I not completely surrender control to Him? {No make-up.  Focusing only on the 24 hour period in which I am presently; and doing what I can in that time and space.}   

·         Finally, an addition: If I truly believe that God is YHWH, then I need a better theology.  Not newer or more “relevant” or more academic.  More holistic, more well-rounded, more thoughtful, more aware.  I will use my course assignments not merely as papers, but as formation exercises.  I will find what theologians say about certain topics (the Doctrine of revelation, of sin, of human being, of creation, of God, etc…), and what the scriptures say; and I will find where I fall.  For out of my theology will come my praxis of life coram deo.  {Research, articulate, and practice Theology on 4 topics}

Of course, these disciplines are just that: mechanisms to keep me mindful of living my entire life as before God.  They will not unlock some secret spirituality within me.  They will not, by virtue of their practice, usher me into a more intimate communion with the Lord.  But, like any training exercise,  they can help me center my mind and focus my heart and bend my spirit to hear God, and daily [even moment to moment] help me to live my life coram deo.           

May this Lenten season find you seeking deeper relationship with God the Father.  May His Holy Spirit guide your weeks ahead.  And may His Son, Jesus Christ once again win your heart with His unquenchable love.

  

 

*A note on Giving up Alcohol – While I do not hold a teetotaler philosophy {this in itself is not a judgment on either side of the debate, merely a personal note}, I find that removing certain substances from time to time a beneficial practice that allows me to focus on mental, spiritual, and physical health.  To do a sounding of my whole person and decided: does this particular element have too great a hold on me (I have done this with alcohol, sugar, and caffeine in the past).  It allows me to find this ingredient’s place in my life and make sure it has not become either a crutch or a screen to something deeper in need of attention. 



Linked with: I Still Hate Pickles for Lent.  Visit Kiki's site, read her words, and be enoucraged by her insightful transparency.  

Judas' Kiss

The Judas Kiss

It’s a dying world.  Rotting.  One could get lost forever in this darkness. 

The proof is in the media; whatever brand you choose.  The headlines alone cause me to question so much…

The week, the Officer has seen things, perpetrated against the most innocent, things that won’t make it to the front page; it makes me wonder how anyone can hope in a place so thick with evil. 

Yet, there was a time not so long ago that I kept company with this ever-present darkness.  Matched its step as a friend.  Breathed the same tempo, like a lover.  Synchronized my heart with this evil that has overcome the world.  Believed the lies, veiled my eyes to truth, and walked deep and long into the wilderness.    

origin

It is always Good Friday that recalls this waywardness in me.  Its recollection brings sorrow.  The remembrance of what my place in the King’s house actually cost.  The price Christ paid, to wade into my desolation; and rescue me from my self-wrought destruction.      

But in meditating on the truth of the cross, hope is found.  There is nothing that the cross doesn’t cover.  Nothing too dark, too weighty, too horrible for Jesus to forgive. 

His blood is enough.  

For me.  For you.  For anyone who asks, who turns their face from the dark and asks to be let into the light.  The ransom has been paid.  You are free, if only you so desire. 

In order for the greatest act of creation to occur, the most grievous depths of despair and darkness had to be reached first.  Death.  Grief.  Separation.  Crucifixion. 

Then life.  Glorious, miraculous life.  For this is the hope and promise of the resurrection. 

Desire Dominates

תְּשׁוּקָתֽוֹ׃

tə·šū·qā·ṯōw: desire

 It’s the same word in Hebrew, the same domination-or-desire that every daughter of Eve and son of Adam will struggle with.  This desire seemingly born of curses into a lifetime of grappling and straining for the most honored places.  These are the only times this dominion-desire word is used.  In the entirety of scripture. In Genesis, it is judged [not cursed, judged] that Eve’s desire will be for her husband.  Later in the beginning, Cain is told sin desires to overtake him.  And in the Song of Songs, the woman, after twice saying her lover is hers, says, “his desire is for me.” [1]

The first is a consequence.  The second, speaks of potentiality.  The third, a reversal. 

Because of Love.

Love turns domination to sacrifice, a willing offering.  One body given up for another.  Wife to husband, man to woman.  Christ for all. 

Jesus for each. 

Love enables one to surrender their entire self on behalf of another.  To be spent for the other’s sake.  To be poured out for the good of someone outside of self.  Love, sacrificial and all-encompassing, ignites desire for more of its object.     

Love for God [in the Song of Songs] transcends covenantal fidelity alone and achieves an arousal and joy that is never consummated fully in this life…for [the saints of Christianity] there was no discontinuity between the Song and their passion for God.  These two expressions of desire welled up from the same center of their being.[2]

Gustav Klimt: The Kiss

While Lent points to death, Christ dying for sins so that we may die to them, it is also a preparation of love.  An anticipation of joy.  This sacrifice of His body for mine, making me His, makes my desire Him.  His willingness to give up his life in exchange for mine is love reversing judgment.  Love’s surrender, love’s sacrifice, takes away my just rewards; and showers me with grace.  Ransoming my past, and bestowing upon me a future which anticipates delights as yet unknown to my shackled and battered soul.      

And so, dominion becomes desire.  Desire gives way to surrender.  Surrender embodies love; and love frees.  Completely.

This is the way of Lent: a desire, not completely achieved on this earth, for God; only possible through the willing surrender of his Son’s body out of love for us.  Death to make a way for Love.  And love to fulfill the righteous judgment, so that relationship is possible. 

 

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[1] Eve – Gen 3:16; Cain – Gen 4:7; Woman – Songs 2:16, 6:4. 7:10

[2] Richard Hess, Song of Songs.  Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2005. page 34

What the quiet teaches

I have a tongue that needs stilling.

That barbed, venomous weapon I wield so deftly against the ones for whom I have the greatest love, of whom I am charged with care and keeping.  My tongue rends hearts; scarring, cutting, leaving marks that can’t be seen, or undone.   

Monday, I tried to keep my tongue behind my teeth.  Little feet dawdled.  Little hands sought play instead of the tasks that propel us out the door to school and life.  Little eyes locked with mine in flat-out defiance.  “You-can’t-make-me-brush-my-teeth-if-you-can’t-talk.”  Shoes were missing, breakfasts sat uneaten; running up and down the stairs was more pressing than getting-out-the-door-so-we’re-not-late.  And my wild gesticulating, rigid fingers pointing from packs to little backs, miming the next steps, brought only quizzically cocked heads.  And more rebellious immobility.

I broke.  I opened my mouth and used my most effective weapon.  I stood, less than 2 hours into my fast, and smashed little heart pieces with the force of my words, the outpouring of my heart.  Little eyes bulged.  “You’re talking.  You’re not supposed to.”

“You promised God.”

How many times have I promised God?  How many nights have I lain in bed, lamenting the day?  Please, Father, give me another chance tomorrow.  A chance to love them better, the way you love me.  A chance to speak life, a chance to use words that build up; a chance to love better. 

And every time coming up short. 

A good man brings good things out of the good stored up in his heart, and an evil man brings evil things out of the evil stored up in his heart. For the mouth speaks what the heart is full of.[1]

But that’s what Lent does.  It takes all my promises and strivings, and shows me where I come up short.  Lent is about dying.  It strips away at human effort and strength, until all that’s left is what’s underneath.  Rusted, rotting places that have to be uncovered in order to be worked on.  Lent is evidence of outward failure and destruction, so that the soul-bones beneath can be exposed and healed.    

God’s promises outlast mine.  God’s promises are fulfilled.

That’s where Lent leads.  To blood.  To the cross.  To a death. 

Human striving is never enough.  It all ends in death.  Lent leads us not only to death, but through it.  Through to the resurrection.  Through to life in grace.  

 A promise fulfilled.   

Glass promises, from my lips, will always break.  But universe-fabric promises will hold fast; because Love does not break.  The promise of Jesus’ life in exchange for mine.  For yours.  An absolute-eternal vow. 

Him for me.  Him for you. 

Love for brokenness.      

Life for death.  This is the way of Lent. 

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[1] Luke 6:45