a first person account of the prodigal: lent 4c

The first reading, underlying the sermon, is 2 Corinthians 5:16-21.

The holy gospel according to Luke (15:1-3, 11b-32)

Now all the tax collectors and sinners were coming near to listen to Jesus.

      ²And the Pharisees and the scribes were grumbling and saying,

            “This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them.”

      ³So he told them this parable:

“There was a man who had two sons.

      ¹²The younger of them said to his father,

            ‘Father, give me the share of the property that will belong to me.’

                  So he divided his property between them.

      ¹³A few days later the younger son gathered all he had

            and traveled to a distant country,

            and there he squandered his property in dissolute living.

            ¹⁴When he had spent everything,

                  a severe famine took place throughout that country,

                  and he began to be in need.

            ¹⁵So he went and hired himself out

                  to one of the citizens of that country,

                        who sent him to his fields to feed the pigs.

                              ¹⁶He would gladly have filled himself with the pods

                                    that the pigs were eating;

                                          and no one gave him anything.

            ¹⁷But when he came to himself he said,

                  ‘How many of my father’s hired hands have bread enough and to spare,

                        but here I am dying of hunger!

                        ¹⁸I will get up and go to my father,

                              and I will say to him,

                                    “Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you;

                                          ¹⁹I am no longer worthy to be called your son;

                                                treat me like one of your hired hands.”’

      ²⁰So he set off and went to his father.

            But while he was still far off,

                  his father saw him and was filled with compassion;

                  he ran and put his arms around him and kissed him.

            ²¹Then the son said to him,

                  ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you;

                        I am no longer worthy to be called your son.’

            ²²But the father said to his slaves,

                  ‘Quickly, bring out a robe—the best one—

                        and put it on him;

                        put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet.

                  ²³And get the fatted calf and kill it,

                        and let us eat and celebrate;

                              ²⁴for this son of mine was dead and is alive again;

                                    he was lost and is found!’

                                          And they began to celebrate.

²⁵“Now his elder son was in the field;

      and when he came and approached the house,

            he heard music and dancing.

      ²⁶He called one of the slaves

            and asked what was going on.

      ²⁷He replied,

            ‘Your brother has come,

            and your father has killed the fatted calf,

                  because he has got him back safe and sound.’

      ²⁸Then he became angry and refused to go in.

            His father came out and began to plead with him.

      ²⁹But he answered his father,

            ‘Listen!

                  For all these years I have been working like a slave for you,

                  and I have never disobeyed your command;

                        yet you have never given me even a young goat

                              so that I might celebrate with my friends.

                        ³⁰But when this son of yours came back,

                              who has devoured your property with prostitutes,

                                    you killed the fatted calf for him!’

      ³¹Then the father said to him,

            ‘Son, you are always with me,

                  and all that is mine is yours.

                        ³²But we had to celebrate and rejoice,

                              because this brother of yours was dead

                                    and has come to life;

                              he was lost

                                    and has been found.’”

The gospel of the lord.

-----

It’s been years—it feels like forever.  I can still see his back loaded up with all he had, his animals carrying even more.  His words to our dad ringing in my ears.  He left us.  He told Dad he was as good as dead to him, took his inheritance,    and took off! 

As I watched him leave us behind for dead, I made up my mind and he became dead to me as well.

All those memories of playing and working and dancing together.  Growing up, he was always eager for an adventure, a new place to explore or a new game to play.  Sometimes it got a bit dangerous, but I was always there to dutifully keep him safe.  I was always there to watch and protect him.  Until he wasn’t there anymore.  Until he turned his back and left me.

It was so quiet in those days after he left.  Every noise drew our eyes back to the road.  Every shimmer of light in the hot son was my brother coming back.  Our nights were quiet.  We just sat, all of us together.  The stories of adventure and songs for dancing had left with my brother.

Night after night and day after day he didn’t come back.  And…eventually…we stopped looking up at every sound and squinting at every mirage.  We started to talk in the evenings, quietly at first, just a couple words, then news about the crops.  It never returned to the joy and exuberance of my brother, but we found a new normal.  It was more subdued, but it was still family and we got used to it.

Life went on.  A bit calmer, a bit quieter, and quite a bit more predictable.  We heard about famines far away, but our crops were growing just fine and I spent only a fleeting moment wondering if my brother was in one of those distant countries.

Then               everything changed.  I remember it like it was yesterday.

That morning, I finally accept that he’s gone for good—dead to me and, from his pattern of behavior and our lack of news, probably dead to the world.

But then, while walking in from another long day in the field, I hear a noise I haven’t heard in years.  Music!  I call over one of the slaves and ask what’s going on.

My.      Brother?  He’s dead!  Lost for good!  He is no brother to me!  He abandoned us while I stayed and served Dad faithfully, never asking for anything, doing all I could to make up for the lost work with his son gone.

And now he’s back?  With music?  He turned his back on us!  We were as good as dead to him!  I finally think I’ve let go of all the pain he caused me and here he is tearing open the old wound, peeling off the scab as my heart begins to bleed again with the pain of it all.

He’s back.  He’s back and there’s music and my dad kills the fatted calf for him!  All these years I’ve worked and for what?  For him to give his other son everything?!  What have I ever had to show for my years of work and obedience?  No thanks, no celebration, no acknowledgement, nothing.  I am the constant, I am the dependable one, and he is the one who put us to death, demanding his inheritance.

But here he is.  Back with music and joy.  And Dad is standing in front of me patiently begging me to come in.  He doesn’t get it!  All I can think is that I have worked like a slave—for what?  For nothing!  Never once has he given me even a goat!  We sit night after night, hardly breaking the silence and now the house will explode with the music, the feast, and the joy!  It’s not right.  It doesn’t fit.  Not anymore.

But here is my dad, standing before me, pleading me to joy, nevertheless.  And in there is his son.  Is … my brother. 

And then it hits me. 

If all that is Dad’s is mine, if we are always together, what if the joy and noise and celebration disappearing wasn’t all because of my brother leaving?  What if I had asked for a goat?  What if I had asked to dance?

My brother was dead—to us, at least—but even so he was always living.  He was lost—but finding new life and experiences.  What if the thing keeping my brother dead, keeping us in mourning, was ourselves? 

What if our house, our family, is a family of abundant joy?  What if we needed my brother to leave so that he could bring joy back into our lives, banishing my resentment? 

What if Dad’s love has always been big enough to celebrate and rejoice?  What if this whole time I have just been getting in my own way?  What if I give in to the celebration?  What if I choose to forgive the pain and hurt of losing my brother? 

What if I could remember the love and the joy?  What if I could risk it again?  What if I choose to remember the dancing and playing more than the loneliness and abandonment?  What if I enter the party?  Would it make all the difference?

It’s been years now since that night and I still remember the feast laid out.  The food was better than anything and the music still rings in my ears.  That night did make all the difference.  We laugh again now.  We dance; we even play sometimes, and we work together and sit together.  The pain and the hurt still come back, especially when I’m annoyed or frustrated.  But it no longer outweighs the joy.

We are family.  We’re different now than we were.  We can never be the family my brother left behind, but we are family in a new way now.  We sit and talk and we laugh and dance, sharing stories of pigs in distant lands, of tax collectors and sinners; and of mishaps and adventures at home.

It’s not always easy, but we’re figuring it out.  Sometimes I have to decide again to forgive him.  And our parents are patient with us and there are times when we all tread a little more lightly with each other. 

Dad was wrong, though.  It wasn’t just my brother.  We were all dead and have come to new life; we were all lost and have been found.

Thanks be to God.

the hen takes on the fox: lent 2

The holy gospel according to Luke (13:31-35)

³¹At that very hour some Pharisees came and said to Jesus,

      “Get away from here,

            for Herod wants to kill you.”

³²Jesus said to them,

      “Go and tell that fox for me,

            ‘Listen, I am casting out demons and performing cures today and tomorrow,

                  and on the third day I finish my work.

            ³³Yet today, tomorrow, and the next day I must be on my way,

                  because it is impossible for a prophet to be killed

                        outside of Jerusalem.’

            ³⁴Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets

                  and stones those who are sent to it!

                  How often have I desired to gather your children together

                        as a hen gathers her brood under her wings,

                              and you were not willing!

                  ³⁵See, your house is left to you.

                        And I tell you,

                              you will not see me until the time comes when you say,

                                    ‘Blessed is the one

                                          who comes in the name of the Lord.’”

The gospel of the lord.

-----

Today begins with the threat of death.  In a concerned move compassionate Pharisees come to warn Jesus of threats to his life.  King Herod, who’s already had John beheaded, has shifted his focus now to Jesus.  Jesus may not be calling Herod out explicitly the way John had, but as Jesus goes about his ministry, it challenges Herod and those in power.  Jerusalem is the seat of power, the Washington, DC of first century Palestine.  It is the place where the powerful gather, decisions are made, and lives and communities change.

It is from there that the warning for Jesus comes.  And so it is no wonder that Jesus calls Herod, the powerful and shrewd ruler, a fox.  I can just hear Jesus’ tone of challenge, “Go and tell that fox for me.”  And here is where the hen takes on uncharacteristic bravery.  Instead of hearing of the fox and then fleeing into hiding, Jesus, the hen who knows danger is coming, tells the dangerous fox to just hold up a bit.  Knowing the power and danger Herod possesses, Jesus is not intimidated.  His life and even death will be on Jesus’ terms, no one else’s.

Jesus counters the threat of “that fox,” Herod, pointing out that he’s busy.  Jesus has got work to do before Herod can fulfill his threats.  Jesus is “casting out demons and performing cures today and tomorrow, and on the third day [finishes the] work.” It is then that Jesus finds himself in line with those who lead movements and speak God’s truth to those in power.

Four years before he was assassinated, Martin Luther King, Jr. spoke of his own death, saying, “Well, if physical death is the price that I must pay to free my white brothers and sisters from a permanent death of the spirit, then nothing can be more redemptive.”[1] 

Archbishop Oscar Romero spoke up for the poor and oppressed in El Salvador during the military dictatorship of the 70s and 80s, also known as the “dirty war.”  He also knew there was a good chance he would be killed, having received several death threats already.  Just before his assassination, his response to them was to say, “If God accepts the sacrifice of my life, may my death be for the freedom of my people. A bishop will die, but the Church of God, which is the people, will never perish.  I do not believe in death without resurrection. If they kill me I will rise again in the people of El Salvador.”[2]

And with that same assurance, Jesus foretells his own death, saying, “today, tomorrow, and the next day I must be on my way, because it is impossible for a prophet to be killed outside of Jerusalem.’ ³⁴Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it!”

Not only is Jesus still busy with the work of ministry but the place is wrong.  Herod won’t kill Jesus outside of Jerusalem because Jerusalem is the place where earthly power clashes most directly with God’s power and truth.

Jerusalem is the city known for killing the prophets and apostles, those “sent” there.  So Jesus will not be killed outside of Jerusalem.  While usually the hen is the one fenced in, it’s like Jesus, as the hen, is fencing in Herod, the fox and dictating where he can and cannot hunt. 

Even as Jesus laments over Jerusalem, yearning to gather the city and all its inhabitants under his wings, Jesus is gathering and protecting those outside Jerusalem.  Jesus puts himself between the fox and the people from whom he is “casting out demons and performing cures.”  Jesus protects the downtrodden and oppressed, those most vulnerable to abuses of power, knowing that ultimately the fox will kill this hen.

Jesus sets the terms of his death and even as he sees Jerusalem and the cross on the horizon, he yearns for all of God’s people to gather under the protection of his wings.  He yearns for all of us to gather, to seek refuge in his wings.  That is the work he still needs to do before he goes to “that fox” Herod, before he joins with martyrs throughout time who know that their mission is more important even than their life.

But Jesus will eventually go.  Having done his best to gather and protect the brood, Jesus will set out to face the fox.  Along the way a parade forms with coats and palm branches.  And people gather to shout hosannas and cry out “Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord,” extolling the one they want to be their military avenger—the hunter ready to kill the fox,                        forgetting that Jesus is no hunter, he is not even the rooster who goes on the attack to fight. 

Jesus     is  the     hen,                      who puts the chicks’ safety first         and heads to a show down without a fight. 

There are no odds in his favor in this showdown.  Jesus will lose because he is unwilling to lose the humanity he chose when he came to join us.  Jesus will lose because he will not kill.  He will not let his humanity suffer or fail in that way.  Jesus will lose because he will remain whole even as his body is torn apart.  Jesus takes on our flesh and spreads his arms wide on the cross like the hen gathers her brood and Herod, the fox, wins this battle. 

Because in a battle between fox and hen, death will always come for the hen.  What comes next, though, is the battle for life.  The battle that claims ultimate victory—over all the power and powerful that Herod and Jerusalem represent; and over death itself. 

Because there is more to life than death and more to faith than fear.  The ultimate absurdity becomes the ultimate victory as the hen is in control, determines the timeline and the setting, and then calmly walks into the slaughter that will not actually end it all with the fox.  The hen faces the fox and though the fox wins, the hen is the ultimate winner “on the third day” as Jesus once again spreads his arms wide to gather first the women and then the rest of the disciples under his wings.

Thanks be to God.

---

[1] Found at: http://thq.wearesparkhouse.org/featured/lent2cgospel/

[2] Found at https://www.facebook.com/romerocenterministries/?target_post=10151565518853582&ref=story_permalink from Romero Center Ministries post March 24, 2013

Jesus journeys with us in the wildernesses: Lent 1

The first reading is Deuteronomy 26:1-11

The second reading is Romans 10:8b-13

The holy gospel according to Luke (4:1-13)

Jesus, full of the Holy Spirit,

       returned from the Jordan

       and was led by the Spirit in the wilderness,

              ²where for forty days he was tempted by the devil.

                     He ate nothing at all during those days,

                     and when they were over,

                            he was famished.

       ³The devil said to him,

              “If you are the Son of God,

                     command this stone to become a loaf of bread.”

       ⁴Jesus answered him,

              “It is written,

                     ‘One does not live by bread alone.’”

       ⁵Then the devil led him up

              and showed him in an instant all the kingdoms of the world.

              ⁶And the devil said to him,

                     “To you I will give their glory and all this authority;

                            for it has been given over to me,

                                   and I give it to anyone I please.

                            ⁷If you, then, will worship me,

                                   it will all be yours.”

       ⁸Jesus answered him,

              “It is written,

                     ‘Worship the Lord your God,

                            the Lord alone shall you serve.’”

       ⁹Then the devil took him to Jerusalem,

              and placed him on the pinnacle of the temple,

                     saying to him,

                            “If you are the Son of God,

                                   throw yourself down from here,

                                          ¹⁰for it is written,

                                                 ‘God will command the angels concerning you,

                                                        to protect you,’

                                                 ¹¹and ‘On their hands they will bear you up,

                                                        so that you will not dash your foot against a stone.’”

       ¹²Jesus answered him,

              “It is said,

                     ‘Do not put the Lord your God to the test.’”

       ¹³When the devil had finished every test,

              he departed from him until an opportune time.

The gospel of the lord.

-----

Lent is a time for self-examination and confession.  Our midweek services are focused on prayer, creating space to intentionally nurture and reflect on our spiritual life, our relationship with God.  On Sundays, our confessions for this season have changed so that we all confess aloud together, even as we also take time to confess silently.  In that vein, I have a confession. 

I struggle with Paul’s words in our reading today from Romans.

I can’t do this whole faith thing on my own. 

I do not always believe in my heart that God raised Jesus from the dead. 

The one day of the year that I am 100% certain that God raised Jesus from the dead is Easter Sunday morning.  Most of the rest of the time I will cast my lot, as they say, with Jesus, but I am not always so certain.  I doubt and sometimes I just plain struggle with disbelief.

I have always appreciated the imagery of Lent in the wilderness.  It is sparse and wide open.  There are no requirements of faith in the wilderness—no test I have to pass or creed I need to confess.  There is an open sky, dirt and rocks.  It is creation in purified form.  It is there for my questions.  The wilderness holds my doubts for me—in hills, in pockets of snow and trees, in the infinite stars that stretch out in the night sky.  In the wilderness there is space for it all—faith, doubt, questions, even utter disbelief.

And the wilderness is where we all come from.  Our ancestors in the faith and our biological ancestors were wilderness wanderers.  We hear the proclamation today in Deuteronomy and join in with the claim that “A wandering Aramean was my ancestor; he went down into Egypt and lived there as an alien”

Migration is the story of our faith from Eve and Adam leaving the garden to Sarah, Hagar, and Abraham wandering to the new place God had in store for them.  Joseph, his father, and his siblings journeyed to Egypt during the famine.  Ruth and Naomi traveled back from Moab.  Mary, Joseph, and eventually Jesus traveled to Bethlehem for a census and then fled to Egypt as refugees.  And throughout Jesus’ public ministry he travels, always crossing over to the other sides, walking to new towns, up mountains, getting in boats, and eventually he journeys up a hill with a cross and down to the depths of suffering and death.

Our faith is the faith of immigrants and we are aliens in this land.  Even as we reside here—whether for a short time or for generations—we belong to the one who calls us into being, who calls our questions and our doubts from us in the wilderness.  We all travel in our faith and somewhere along our own ancestry we have ancestors—or maybe we are the ones—who began journeys away from all they knew to live as aliens; immigrants, as we say today.  Holding onto a promise of new life, hope for the future, they entered into the wilderness journey that we too find ourselves on from time to time, especially in Lent.

But I find that the wilderness, while familiar and open for my questioning, isn’t quite enough for me.  I need that space, openness, and aloneness, to journey and question but then I need to come back.  And even while I’m in the wilderness, I need a community of faith.  I need a community that can keep the faith for me, that can keep the faith when I struggle.  That is why we come together each week—to hold each other’s questions, doubt, and disbelief and to carry the faith along our wilderness journeys when it is too much for another to bear.

In this way when I struggle, you can shoulder the burden and when you struggle, I can shoulder it and together that burden is lighter for us all.  So I can “confess with [my] lips that Jesus is Lord.” And trust in the community of faith to help my heart believe that God raised Jesus from the dead.

Within this community of faith—here as Trinity and First—we join Jesus in the wilderness of this Lenten journey.  We rest in the openness of creation to all our doubts, questions, and disbeliefs. 

As Jesus encounters temptations and challenges in the wilderness, and because together God makes us into the body of Christ, we respond with Jesus.  Even as we rejoice to receive communion and to have enough to eat, we also know that others go without and that as an early passage in Deuteronomy states and Jesus echoes in today’s gospel, “one does not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of the Lord.” (Deut 8:3b) 

As we look at creation and the ways we use and abuse it, Jesus also empowers us to “Worship the Lord your God, the Lord alone shall you serve.”  Even temptations to power and prestige cannot claim us because it is God who is the power and source of all life.  And in this community of faith instead of testing God or making deals with God for healing, well-being, safety, or certainty, God creates the space for us to sit together with our questions, learning to rest in God, to trust God’s promise of life, made known to us in Jesus.

And so we can “confess with [our] lips that Jesus is Lord and believe in [our] heart that God raised him from the dead.” God creates the wilderness space for our journeys and God travels those journeys with us, all the way to the cross and back.  May this Lenten wilderness provide you with the space you need to journey, doubt, and rest.

Amen.

Practicing Piety with God: Ash Wednesday

The first reading is Joel 2:1-2, 12-17

The psalm is Psalm 51:1-17

The holy gospel according to Matthew (6:1-6, 16-21)

Jesus said:

“Beware of practicing your piety before others

       in order to be seen by them;

              for then you have no reward from your Father in heaven.

²“So whenever you give alms,

       do not sound a trumpet before you,

              as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets,

                     so that they may be praised by others.

                            Truly I tell you,

                                   they have received their reward.

       ³But when you give alms,

              do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing,

                     ⁴so that your alms may be done in secret;

                     and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.

⁵“And whenever you pray,

       do not be like the hypocrites;

              for they love to stand and pray

                     in the synagogues and at the street corners,

                            so that they may be seen by others.

                                   Truly I tell you,

                                          they have received their reward.

              ⁶But whenever you pray,

                     go into your room and shut the door

                            and pray to your Father who is in secret;

                                   and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.

¹⁶“And whenever you fast,

       do not look dismal, like the hypocrites,

              for they disfigure their faces so as to show others that they are fasting.

                     Truly I tell you,

                            they have received their reward.

              ¹⁷But when you fast,

                     put oil on your head and wash your face,

                            ¹⁸so that your fasting may be seen

                                   not by others but by your Father who is in secret;

                                          and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.

¹⁹“Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth,

       where moth and rust consume

       and where thieves break in and steal;

       ²⁰but store up for yourselves treasures in heaven,

              where neither moth nor rust consumes

              and where thieves do not break in and steal.

                     ²¹For where your treasure is,

                            there your heart will be also.

The gospel of the lord.

-----

Today’s readings and, indeed today as a whole, are full of contradictions.  On Ash Wednesday we mark our foreheads with ashes.  We remind ourselves and each other of our mortality—that we are dust and to dust we shall return.                          Even as we are clearly alive and trust in God’s promise of everlasting life, we are dust and to dust we shall return.

In our readings, we vary between Joel’s call for an assembly, repentance and sacrifice to God, the psalmist’s declaration that God cares about our hearts—our whole beings—rather than burnt offerings, and Jesus’ warnings against being like the hypocrites, who make a scene when giving offerings and alms.

What I realized with Jesus’ warnings in the gospel is that he’s not talking about what we do so much as why we do it.  Sometimes I think we take this passage a little too much at face value, a little too literally.  Jesus gives different examples for what he’s talking about—giving alms, praying, and fasting—and each example is different, but the hypocrites’ motivation is the same.  So much so, that if we’d had a couple more examples, we could’ve gotten a rousing refrain going. 

Each time Jesus warns against hypocrites who give alms, pray, and fast very publicly it’s “so that they may be seen by others.”  God is not the focus of their prayers and from the description I actually wonder if they’re thinking about God at all.  They give alms, pray, and fast so that others will see and think highly of them.

Now, we spent Epiphany praying on street corners, in our places of worship, and throughout the community as well.  The irony of Jesus’ words today is not lost on me J  But the goal of our praying was to look for God at work and to learn a bit more about the community and where God might be calling us.  To open us up to God in the midst of ordinariness.  …And maybe I was also curious what might happen if someone did notice you and ask what you were doing. 

But really, when we give alms, pray, or fast, the goal is not to look good for others—to show off.  The goal is, as today’s psalm states, to open ourselves to God that God would put a new and right spirit within us.  Giving alms—giving money in offering—gives us power over our hearts.  As Jesus promises, where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.  Our offerings bring our hearts back to this place and our money for ministry and mission bring our collective heart to the body of Christ and to the community.

Praying cultivates openness to God.  Pausing to spend time intentionally with God in prayer—whatever that may look like—takes us out of the busy-ness that can overwhelm or distract us.  As we breathe, the Holy Spirit breathes through us. 

Similarly, fasting refocuses our hunger for God and deepens our empathy for those who hunger without the means or access to satisfy their hunger.  Each of these practices are intended to draw us closer to God and in so doing, draw us more deeply into God’s love for all of creation.

As we journey through Lent we will be traveling from the dusty desert wilderness to chicken coops, from fig trees to far away lands of famine, rooms filled with perfume of pure nard, and ultimately we will follow Jesus to the cross.  In the midst of this we will also be exploring prayer with the Episcopalians, exploring our relationship with God in new ways.

It is too easy to get caught up with the hypocrites in thinking there is only one way to be faithful or pray.  The reality is, there are many ways to pray, bowing your head and folding your hands or repeating the Lord’s Prayer are just a couple examples.

The goal of prayer, and what the hypocrites in today’s gospel are missing, is to be intentional about time spent with God.  Traditionally Lent has been a time to prepare for baptism or even first communion.  It is the time of the church year when we can refocus on our spiritual life.

Some people do this by fasting—giving up chocolate, food, or even Facebook—to spend that time, money, and energy reflecting instead on God.  Some people decide to read the Bible—maybe reading through one of the gospels—during this time.  Some decide to pray every day.  Some choose an extra way to be in service or give more money to a church or other organization.

House for All Sinners and Saints, an ELCA congregation in Denver, Colorado, has a list of different things to do each day of Lent.  The list includes praying for enemies, giving away food cards, and internet dieting, among others.

The goal in each of these opportunities is not to adopt them all permanently or to show off or brag about your piety, but to explore different practices and see what resonates with you.  Maybe you really liked learning about a saint and want to learn more, or maybe confessing a secret really lightened the burden you hadn’t realized was weighing you down.

Each Wednesday we will be experimenting together with prayer.  Maybe one of these new ways to pray will resonate deeply with you.  Even if they don’t, however, you will have spent intentional time with God in community, which is, itself, prayer.

That is Jesus’ exhortation in the gospel.  To practice your piety, not for others, but in ways that are meaningful.  To see your own cross marked on your forehead, to remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return.  Practice your piety to deepen your faith, to strengthen your relationship with God.  Ash Wednesday is our invitation, as our foreheads are marked with a cross of ash, Jesus invites us into deeper relationship, into quiet spaces, and sung praises.  Into the grace of God.

This Lent that lies before us is a journey.  As we journey together, we know that we head to the cross.  The ashes marking our foreheads direct us to the death that is no longer the final word.  From dust we are and to dust we shall return.  Yet the crosses of ash direct us through Jesus’ death on a cross into the hope of new life—resurrection.  As we wait and wander, Jesus leads us deeper into our faith.  Spiritual nourishment is part of the way of the cross.  May our journey this year bring you closer to God, closer to each other, and closer to all of creation.

Amen.