Lenten Season 2017

I just thought I’d share some of the Lenten devotionals that I wrote for the Lenten Booklet that was distributed to our congregation.(Ash Wednesday, March 1, 2017)

I Know Ashes (Revisited)
“O Lord, to you I cry out, for fire has devoured the open pastures and a flame has burned all the trees of the field.”  Joel 1:19 NKJV

I have ashes on my mind and it’s no great mystery as to why, after all it’s Ash Wednesday, the beginning of Lent. This day calls us with greater intention to draw near to God knowing that God has promised to draw near to us. It demands that as people of faith we, with solemn hearts and a sobering mindset, set out on a journey of reflection knowing that it may lead us down ragged pathways, gardens of great struggle, and dusty roads that lead not to still waters, but to rugged crosses where death appears to reign supreme. Ash Wednesday does not at first remind me of the promise or power of resurrection but of the reality of death. It reminds me of ashes.

I know ashes. Maybe all too well. As I trace the contours of my life as a single childless Black woman preacher writer artist whose own journey seems to have been tattooed with struggle and setbacks, disappointments and unfortunately, moments of disillusionment,  I find myself acquainted with the dreams and expectations and plans that I had for my life if not in flames then at least smoldering from the place that the fire has made contact. I know ashes.

As I enter this Season of Lent I sense God’s invitation to see my journey differently, my walk with God differently, but also to look at the ashes of my life with different lenses.  Ashes not only signify the reality of devastation, the marker of the path that the fires of life have consumed, but as an announcement of the call to turn and as a method of renewal. There have been some indigenous cultures that have used the ashes of certain plants for medicinal purposes and cleansing agents. Ashes have also been used in modest amounts to treat soil, preparing the land for future harvests. I do not consider myself a bearer of ancient healing wisdom, nor a modern-day horticulturist yet I am reminded that in some ways and in my own life ashes point to a place ahead, a place beyond the fire that sings of the possibility of restoration and healing.

Is this not what the Phoenix teaches us?  As people of the sun, do we not sense her wisdom calling to us from heavens above during this Lenten Season? Do we not hear her say that rebirth and renewal is possible, cleansing and healing is possible, hope and future is possible if we dare go through the ashes? I know ashes. And I enter this season trusting that on the other side of this journey, I will… we will, like the Phoenix, also know restoration.

Remember
“And whenever you pray…” Matthew 6:5a

I will confess… sometimes when I fast I forget to pray. I know… shameful. But it’s easier to do than one may think. The focus on denying one’s self, on letting go of what has become for so many of us a go to past time, can be stressful. It’s not even that I am always eating the foods that are on the Lent “give up list” but somehow the knowledge that I have intentionally set aside certain foods, certain practices to focus time on reflection and seeking God anew… well, it takes a lot of concentration and in doing so I forget to pray.

Sometimes when I take on a Lenten observation I forget to pray. How in the world can this be? Well, in all of my focus to get new reading material and to identify prayer focuses and to gather up devotionals to follow so that I don’t wander aimlessly through the season only to find myself early on Easter morning fatigued, wearied and disconnected I manage… sometimes… to forget to pray. After all, all that planning and preparing takes energy.

Sometimes when I pray I forget to pray. Yes. I forget to really pray, to pay attention to God in ways that are thoughtful, mindful, intentional. In all of my making time to encounter God sometimes I forget that this God is a very present presence, One who takes delight in spending time with God’s own. In my feeble attempts to get myself ready I forget, sometimes, to bring my whole self, my right now self to the moment and trust that I am enough even in my brokenness. And so this Lent… I will remember. I will remember this time to pray.

(From the week of March 12, 2017)

The Way Ahead
“Now the Lord said to Abram, “Go from your country and your kindred and your father’s house to the land that I will show you.” Gen. 12:1

I am born for adventure. Not needing anything but the proper refreshments and a map. No set destination or agenda needed. Me. The open road. The sun. The breeze and the right sound track blasting through the speakers. All day. Everyday… in my head. Only, in my head. I would love for this to be true in my living waking moments. But in all honesty, I am a bit too A-type (not to mention scared) for this kind of adventure to be a normal everyday occurring part of my life. I like adventure, but with as much clarity and certainty as I can get.

Journeys are God’s thing and apparently so is extending invitations sometimes disguised as commands to destinations not yet known. Lent reminds me of this, of God’s proclivity for adventure and my bent towards needing more information than what the Divine often gives. Yet, this adventure, this God adventure, calls to the adventurer in me and reminds me that whether through wildernesses or deserts, whether in high times or times of great uncertainty there is assurance of the One who has promised to go with me. I am not alone. I will not be abandoned. For this I am grateful. And with this, sometimes with this only, I make my way to the car, I roll down the windows, I find the station that makes my soul sing and gives me courage and I move
ahead trusting that the way ahead, though uncertain, is all the information (at least for now) that I really need.

Simple Reminders
“Indeed, God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him.” John 3:17

As long as I can remember, I have found it easier to see my weaknesses, my brokenness, my failures, the shadow side of myself than to see the parts of me that are beautiful, brilliant, gifted, promising. I don’t know when it started, but I remember even as an elementary school child obsessing more about the three points I missed on the test than the ninety-seven points I earned. I suppose some of it has to do with personality. Some of it has to do with A-type creative craziness. Some of it has to do with… God, at least a distorted view of God that sometimes surfaces when my defenses are down and the view of my life from where I am standing is marked by fatigue and second guessing.

Surprisingly enough, in these moments it is simple reminders from my childhood that quiet my heart, Yes, Jesus loves me. Yes, Jesus loves me. Yes, Jesus loves me for the Bible tells me so. Simple reminders.  “For God so loved the world that God gave God’s only begotten son …” Simple reminders that the love of God stretches across the terrain of brokenness that threatens my calm. Simple reminders that assure me that the ugly of this world is not stronger than God’s commitment to love us fully into wholeness. Simple Reminders. Simple reminders that God’s love is formidable, all encompassing, far-reaching. It is a kind of love that is completely aware of our faults, completely cognizant of our vulnerabilities and insists that God’s love in and through Jesus Christ alone is enough. In a complicated world, in the midst of challenging times, I am grateful for simple reminders.

(From the week of March 19, 2017)

To Hear or Not to Hear
“Today, if only you would hear his voice, “Do not harden your hearts as you did at Meribah, as you did that day at Massah in the wilderness, where your ancestors tested me; they tried me, though they had seen what I did.” Psalm 95:7c-9

What is it about wilderness wanderings that make the senses do strange things? Your eyes focus in on objects that appear and disappear with disturbing playfulness. Food does not land on the taste buds the way one remembers. Your favorite sweater switches from comforting to itchy. And even your ears can start playing tricks on you. The wilderness can mess with our senses and our sense of well being… with our perception of whether or not God is still with us, whether or not God still hears us and whether or not we trust that we still hear God.

The children would experience this challenge. Our ancestors in the midst of trial and impending triumph would too. And we will come to know this if we haven’t already. The reality is that this is all part of journey.

The changing of what we once believed was certain. The unsettling and resettling of beliefs and practices that anchor us to our faith in the midst of uncertainty. And the tuning and retuning and further tuning of our hearing that helps us to find the melody that sings us to life when minor keys swirl around our head and heart. This hearing God and being heard by God is no small matter. Maybe the thing for us to remember, the critical truth that keeps us moving forward even when our faith climate changes, is that we will not always be certain about whether or not God is speaking or whether or not we are hearing God clearly.  Maybe the hardening of hearts begin when we assume that our senses alone, spiritual or otherwise, are able to keep us attuned to God.

(From the week of March 26, 2017)

Made to Rest
“He makes me lie down in green pastures; he leads me beside still waters; he restores my soul.” Psalm 23:2-3a

I have been staring at this computer screen for a while now. I’ve checked email several times. I have looked on facebook and clicked “like” on several posts. I have checked out my latest binge worthy interest on Netflix to distract me from this one thing… I am tired. I am tired. The kind of tired that keeps my mind moving from one thought to the next. The kind of tired that blurs my vision to the point of seeing several screens in front of me even though there is really only one. I am the kind of tired that almost has me thinking that this writing for Lent thing was a bad idea. I am tired and what I need is a place to lay my head, a moment to close my eyes, a comfy chair to ease into. I need to get some rest.

Unfortunately, I know this place all too well. I know it because fatigue is not an unfamiliar state for me. There are a host of reasons why. Some are physiological, some are emotional, one or two may even be spiritual but at the end of the analysis the out come is the same… I need to get some rest.

Psalm 23 reminds me once again that the journey of faith, that this life’s journey is filled with many things that can drain and stretch us. Much of it is just the result of living life in these vulnerable yet beautifully resilient bodies, some of it is because of the adventure and occasional conflict that comes from saying yes to God. But Psalm 23 reminds me again that God intends for times of rest and renewal to also be a regular part of the journey. God is the one who makes us to rest, causes us to rest, ensures that we rest and that we do it in places that feed and nourish us. In the place where our striving and working and sometimes wandering wears us out it is helpful to remember that stopping, regrouping,  pulling back, taking off, shutting down, and getting the rest that we need is absolutely part of God’s will and intention for our lives.

(From the week of April 2, 2017)

A Change of Scene
“The hand of the Lord came upon me, and he brought me out by the spirit of the Lord and set me down in the middle of a valley; it was full of bones.” Ezekiel 37:1

This past week, spurred on by racist and sexist attacks against two African American women in the public/political arena, a new hashtag was born, #BlackWomenatWork. On various social media platforms Black women began to share accounts of their own experience with racism and/or sexism that took place in the workplace. As I read post after post a couple of things came to mind. For one, I marveled at the restraint of Black women because account after account after account definitely showed how often we have been tested. I was also saddened by what I read, even when the posts were slightly amusing, because what was also clear is that we were extremely tired of it all. The constant battle against racism and sexism takes its toll on the spirit (not to mention one’s body, mind, and economics). Micro-agressions drain us of our creativity and joy and even though the testimonies displayed the brilliance of Black woman resilience it also showed the places that long term resistance can wear at our seams. But something I did not expect happened as I read and wondered where my stories were. I found myself unwilling to “go there,” unwilling to mine the landscape of my own experience. I needed, if for just a day or two to let the dead memories stay in the graveyard where I had buried them.

The prophet Ezekiel encouraged me to share my own story by reminding me that sometimes the Spirit of God will take us places that we don’t want to go and show us things while we are there that we would much rather leave unseen. During Lent we are reminded that the God that makes us to lie in green pastures and leads us besides still waters can also lead (or drag) us to a valley of dry bones. This, however, is not for our undoing. It is not to torture us or to pull on the string that we are convinced is holding our resolve and sanity in place. God leads us to valleys of dry bones when we are ready to confront what has been buried there. More than that, when God leads us to valleys of dry bones, so the prophet assures me,  it is to show us once again that God intends to show forth God’s power in ways that cause needful things to live once again.

Take a Deep Breath
“Thus says the Lord God to these bones: I will cause breath to enter you, and you shall live.” Ezekiel 37:5

I’m not sure when this started, nor can I pinpoint exactly when I noticed it, but I don’t breathe deeply. Maybe I’ve never been a deep breather. To be honest, except for the moments when I have had to dig deep to hit a high or sustained note while singing, I don’t know that I’ve given it much thought. This is no small thing. Neither is this deep breathing business insignificant.  Deep breathing has tremendous health benefits. It’s a vital component in stress management, aids the body in releasing toxins, releases endorphins throughout the body, and helps to increase energy levels. We need to breathe deeply.

I even noticed that my deep breaths have a shallow rushed quality to them. This is no way to live or rather this is no way to live well and I’ve become concerned about this. I am also convinced that it’s a concern to God.

The Lord tells the prophet that a wind is coming, the breath of the Living God. This breath is the kind that brings with it new life, vitality, and strength. It’s the kind of breath that resurrects the dead things in us that must come back to life. It’s the kind of breath that frees us for the work that is ahead and inspires us to go further than we have before. It’s the kind of breath that outlives our shortcomings and outlasts our disappoints and failures. It’s the breath of God. This is not the time to clinch our lips and sip in what is being offered. This is not time to hold our breath. This is not the time to find comfortable and manageable ways to take in God’s encounter. No. In the face of the wind that God is sending, it’s time to take a deep breath.

(From the week of April 9, 2017)

Today
“I shall not die, but I shall live, and recount the deeds of the Lord.” Psalm 118:17

At first it felt a bit odd to write a devotional on living a full and abundant life as we as we finish up our final days of this year’s Lenten Season with the memory of Calvary just days away. The plotting and planning to set Jesus up is near. The betrayal of one of his own is near. The taunting and cursing of a crowd gone mad is near. Or maybe the reminder that our life is worth living makes perfect sense as we carefully walk through the land field called Holy Week.

Jesus walked through the suffering of his last days on earth, gave up his life on the cross in a way that cost him everything, and did it so that we would have a greater sense of a call to and be moved by a commitment to live our lives inspired by his offering. The psalmist would come to declare that in the midst of a struggle, at a time when it looked like death would have its way, that he would instead live and not die. Not today. Not yet. Not in this. The psalmist has a sense of timing, and how he understood the current season was that it was a time to live, a time to flourish, a time to carry on, a time to move forward victoriously. It was a time to live and not die. Death would inevitably come. But not today.

May our prayers and reflections in these last days of Lent inspire us to do the same. May we, as we observe what appears to be the triumph of death all around us, be emboldened to live intentionally, purposefully, and courageously because we are aware of the great lengths that the Lord went through to ensure that we would have the power to do so. May we talk ourselves out of every box that limits our vision and dulls our sense of the presence of God and God’s leading in our day to day lives. And may we have the wherewithal and determination, like the psalmist, to boldly declare that our life, our full and vibrant life is worth our living. Today. Today is not the day for dying, but a day for getting clear and speaking clearly about the things that the Lord has done on our behalf.