Relationship, Not Right (a sermon on Micah 6:1-8)

My sermon on Micah 6:1-8 (NRSV) preached at Faith Lutheran Church on Sunday, January 29, 2017. 

For at least the last 3 months, the verse from Micah has been eating at me,

particularly the part that says “what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?”

It is said so simply that it seems pretty clear. But yet it eats at me still. It eats at me because, for the last 2 years I have seen our country tear apart again and again.

I am only 29 years old. My personal and collective history is brief compared to many. I don’t know how the current division of our communities holds up to previous times of great tension. But I can tell you, I don’t like this.

And I know you don’t like this either.

I also know many of you would probably gladly hear me and Pastor Josh say we will not bring up anything about the party line division of our country or anything else that skirts to close to a political edge.

But we will not stop talking about this because God calls us to love each other, all of the each others out there, whether similar or different to ourselves. And we need to build more bridges across this division instead of building up walls.

But I also just as much say, I don’t care who you voted for. I don’t care what bumper sticker you have on your car or who you feel is the greater evil out of our November decision.

Further living in those divides only digs our trenches deeper and is not anything we are called to. Which brings me back to the verse that has been gnawing at my nerve endings.

Do justice.

Love kindness.

Walk humbly with your God.

The more I think about these requirements God gives us, the more I realize there is a tension in the relationship of the three, but they are all required, need some unpacking.

Do justice: when I think about doing justice, I get a few images in my head.

I think of courtrooms where “justice is served” as a guilty person is given a punishment.

I think of the civil rights movement, the marches, sit ins, and peaceful protests that stood up to power and said no, this is not right and we will not accept it any longer and instead shared a dream of a just reality.

I think of the pledge of allegiance that says “with liberty and justice for all”

Doing justice can sometimes come as a relieving vindication and other times come as an holy anger so great it burns.

But if we leave out justice and just love kindness and walk humbly, we end up with neighbors who are suffering, powers that are raging, and a crushed world which is being ignored for the sake of smiling at a stranger and not getting too arrogant.

These are good things to do, but you can be kind and humble to a neighbor, and still ignore their oppression, and thus become an accomplice to it.  

Loving kindness and walking humbly without doing justice may look like worshiping our Lord who was a refugee just after his birth, but remaining silent when refugees are refused welcome and safety in our land.

Love Kindness: you may have also heard this as love mercy, either way, we are called to love in this way.

I believe this follows the requirement of doing justice because that burning hot anger I described, well it can sometimes cause us to do justice out of hate, to do justice out of vengeance, to do justice out of fear.

But here God gives us a guideline. Love kindness. Loving kindness does not just mean that we love those who are nice to us, this requirement is to love as we have been loved. Which God does with kindness and mercy.

So what happens if we leave out kindness and mercy, but only seek justice and walking humbly with God. Without kindness and mercy, we are never able to reconcile our differences. Without kindness and mercy, forgiveness is not genuine.

Then we Walk Humbly: this is the hardest one for me. I can easily go around striving for justice and be nice but have a proud heart that I am right and others are wrong.

I can do justice and love kindness but do it in a way that is not honoring my neighbor, that puts myself above them, or writes them off entirely.

That is not doing justice, loving kindness and walking humbly, that’s acting out prouder than I ought. It does not honor or love God or my neighbor.

It is self serving and self righteous.

But to do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly - we must see our neighbor.

We must see our neighbor with different opinions and care about them and love them. And not just in a superficial way but to actually care more about being in relationship with each other than be right.

And that’s a big pill to swallow and it’s prescribed for both sides of any division or disagreements.

Before these three requirements were named in the Micah texted, the author questioned, with what shall I come before the Lord?

Asking about burnt offerings, rivers of oil, and other sacrificial items to make one right with God. But that’s not it. Being made right is not what it’s about, it is the key dimensions of how we live with our neighbors because of what God has done for us. And how we live with all our neighbors of the world, all of God’s children.

It’s about being in relationship, not being right.

This is not an easy thing to do, but thankfully we have a God that must know we learn well from modeled behavior.

God continually seeks to be in relationship with us, no matter what wrongs we have done.

God continually longs to be in relationship with us, no matter what wrongs we have done.

God puts relationship with us above being right. If God didn’t, grace would not be a thing, and we would all be in a lot trouble.

God sent Jesus to be in relationship with us, to walk with us, to show God’s love in real ways. Ways that fed the thousands when they were hungry. Ways that healed the broken. Ways that wept when one was gone. Ways that said “you who is without sin, cast the first stone” this cares about relationship rather than being right.

Jesus was doing justice, loving kindness, even walking humbly while being God.

God enters our brokenness and rather than tells us how wrong or messed up we are, God loves us, stays with us, heals us, calls us God’s own, and says “you belong”.

And then God even died on a cross for us, to forgive us for our sins, our wrongdoings, the things we have done, and the things we have left undone. God freed us from the worry about making ourselves right with God, which we are not capable of, to be forgiven, beloved children, who can focus on being in a relationship with God and with our neighbors.

If God can do this for us, why do we struggle so much to do this with each other?

It doesn’t mean that there won't still be conflict and divide.

We are still called to work for justice and in a world of injustice that doesn’t always come easy.

We are still called to love kindness and in a world where hate and fear run wild.

We are still called to walk humbly in a world where power and prestige are the measures of worth.

We are still to do what is right, we just need to do it without the focus of being right.

In some ways it seems simple and in others it’s beyond complex.

God does not lead us to an easy road to walk.

It would be much easier to just give a sacrifice than being called to the higher road of loving our neighbor and actively being in a just, kind, and humble relationship with them and with God.

But thank God that this short list of heavy requirements all end with God. God does not leave us.

In the face of injustice and inequality - do justice, God is with you.

In the face of hate and fear - love kindness, God is with you.

In the face of power and pride - walk humbly, God is with you.

A Christmas Reflection

Christmas is always an interesting time to me. Advent (the weeks before Christmas) sets aside a season of waiting, to prepare our hearts for the coming of Jesus. While the church calendar sets aside intentional seasons and days for practices and celebrations, they are really characteristics of discipleship which we should be living all the time.

So I appreciate Advent for its attention to waiting, watching, and being prepared for the hope coming in Christ. But what always gets me is Christmas. It's not so much the story that gets me - though I do love the story - it is the incarnation itself that every time stops me dead my tracks and sends me into a world of wonder and awe at the mystery of our Lord. The fact that for some reason, God, in all the power and might that comes with being the divine One, chose to put on flesh. To be fully human and fully God and come to us, to be God with us - Emmanuel.

And that's where the story tells the beauty of this world changing event. Honestly, in the church we've heard this many times so sometimes it feels trite to say, but God did not come in power and glory. God came in an unexpected way, to an unexpected couple who found themselves displaced, in need, but still following God's call. God came to the world through a dirty stable, because the world said "sorry, there's no room for you here."

Most of advent I spend thinking about Mary. (I've spent 2 of my last 4 Advents in my third trimester of pregnancy.) What it would be like as a mother - knowing the very real humanness of being pregnant, bringing a child into the world, and how incredibly terrifying it is to love a child that much - it makes sense why the angel told her "do not be afraid".

I think of her as I put my boys to bed and what her call must have been like. This has been my unintentional Advent practice. But for about the last year, or since the photo of the 3-year-old Syrian boy who washed upon the shores, lifeless while only seeking a hope and a chance at life - as I tuck my boys in each night, I think of those mothers and their babies. I pray with Noah and I think "What if something happens? What if the world changes and we are in that situation. Will these prayers teach him the things I cannot, if we are separated? Will I know what to do to care for them if our safety, security, and personhood are threatened or worse, taken?"

And while I feel fear and grief for a moment, I simultaneously feel two following things:
1) the angels words to Mary, "do not be afraid" and
2) I have the convenience to say "do not be afraid" and mostly feel it. Because the fear, for me personally, is in my head. But for far to many of my neighbors, this is not true. For my neighbors in far too many places in the world, the fear is not just a scary thought.
That fear is dropped from a plane in the sky and landing on their homes.
That fear is seen the starving faces of their children, because community are cut off from food and humanitarian efforts.
That fear is realized in the young children who are not even crying anymore in the midst of the trauma, but are starring, because this trauma has become their daily life.

And then I become paralyzed. I think "well what can I do?" "the problems are too big and too complex and too unending"
but again, God comes in amongst the mess of humanity and shares with divine clarity.
Feed the hungry. Welcome the stranger. Clothe the naked. Care for the sick. Visit the imprisoned. Because just as we do it to the least of those, we do it to God. (Matt 25)

In this time of celebrating the birth of our savior, born in a world that said "there's no room for you here, go somewhere else," whose family fled genocide (slaughter of the innocents) and became refugees, let us remember this in these days that we are called to prepare the way.

One of the ways you can prepare the way is by giving to those who are helping. Helping those who find themselves, just as the holy family was, displaced, fleeing genocide, and seeking safe shelter.

While it is important to pray for them, do not feel 'let off the hook' of helping your neighbor because you said a prayer, unless it looks something like this "You pray for the hungry. Then you feed them. This is how prayer works" (Pope Francis). So pray. And then give to organizations like The White Helmets, Lutheran Immigration and Refugee Service, Doctors without Borders or local efforts that support those who find themselves displaced like the Holy Family. And stand up for your neighbor. Show up for your neighbor.

We live in a world filled with hurt and brokenness. Seek community rather than power. Seek loving your neighbor rather fearing that if they are safe, you might be a little less safe. And rejoice that our God chose to put on flesh, enter this incredibly broken, repeatedly sinful world, and meet us where we are in it. Love us where we are in it. And call us and use us where we are in it to love God and love our neighbor. Thanks be to God.

The Picture of Heartbreak and the Eternal Okay

This is the picture that breaks my heart. 

It reminds me of a person I didn’t get to be and a person I didn’t get to know. 

Tomorrow will be 4 years since Josh and I received the most heartbreaking news a parent can hear. “There is no heartbeat.” “Your baby has died.”

I remember the start of that day. It was a Wednesday. I had just finished my last project for Josiah’s nursery. His bassinette. I sewed a cover, canopy, and skirt to match the rest of his Very Hungry Caterpillar room. It was a beautiful August day in Iowa. Blue skies and a nice breeze, temperatures perfect enough to leave the windows opened. I remember I had spent the morning, and much of that summer, listening to the 70s Folk station on Pandora – those songs and the warm breeze of fresh summer air flowed through the house and it felt like a perfect summer day. And I felt ready. The last project was done. The house was clean. I knew we were in the “any day now” stage. I had been feeling what I thought was him moving but turned out to be Braxton hicks contractions. But I did not know that until minutes before finding out what the day actually held for us. 

That morning, Josh was out with a friend from church at a shooting range. When he got home, we went to our 37-week check-up. I don’t remember walking in or what I was thinking about. I don’t remember what anything felt like at that place before our worlds came crashing down. But I will never forget the moments of the crash. Seeing his beatless heart on the ultrasound and knowing this was happening. Still in shock and having to be told again. And then realizing, I still had to deliver him. While I asked for a c-section to spare myself any further trauma, the midwife informed me that while it was an option it was not the best one for my own healing, recovery, or having future kids. While I began to grasp what was ahead of me, in a 15-minute span of having a normal check up to finding out our baby had died and I would still have to deliver him and then go home empty, I was doubly shocked that she would suggest that I would have more kids. Because while I don’t remember what I thought walking in, I clearly remember walking out and the only thing I was sure of is that I would never be here again. I would never put myself in a place to love someone and have so much anticipation and joy to meet them and love them for their whole life only to be told that it had ended before it could begin. I could not change what had happened, but I had to protect myself from allowing it to happen again. 

And that lasted about 24 hours. 

As the initial shock began to wear off, we weighed the few options we had. I could wait until I went into natural labor. But I didn’t think I would mentally, emotionally, and physically survive drawing this out until my body decided it was time. The c-section option was out because despite the immense pain I was in, I knew I had to love a baby again. My call to motherhood was not something I could protect myself from, even if it brought the caution and reality of loss. So after a day and a half of mourning and shock, we started labor the next morning.  Active labor began the following day and he was born after a relatively short labor. (And drug free – I’m proud of that fact! And have since gone straight for the epidural. But yay for my one!) The evening of Saturday, August 25, 2012, Josh and I, and our parents got to hold the baby we had waited so long – in the months of gestation and the hours of death. It was a glimpse of new life. Even through death. The 24 hours we spent with Josiah were filled with joy, beauty, and love. We had a naming and blessing service for him, took pictures, and held his little body. 

In the days ahead, we were surrounded by love and support (and food!) from family, friends, and the Wartburg community. We received cards of care, compassion, and shared heartbreak in the loss of Josiah’s life. We received notes even from people we knew, including the man Josh spent his morning with, and those we did not know who knew the pain of the death of a baby and we didn’t feel so alone as we joined the worst club ever. On August 31, we had a funeral for Josiah. I looked forward to this as a symbolized end of this stage of grief and at the same time deeply grieved the movement of time, putting more hours and days between the time that I had held Josiah. I could barely handle walking down the aisle and I remembered the pastor saying something to us about the times in the service where we say “stand as you are able” and that it is okay if we are not emotionally able to stand, and the rest of the people gathered will stand for us. And it came to the time when the Gospel was read before the sermon began. The story was from Mark 10, and the disciples tried to keep some children away from Jesus. Jesus is pissed (or indignant, as Mark more eloquently puts it) and tells the disciples and the crowd “Let the little children come to me; do not stop them; for it is to such as these that the kingdom of God belongs.” As I heard these words, I felt an overwhelming presence of God. I cannot explain it other than knowing we would be okay and having a sense of peace like never before. 

The days, weeks, months, and years that we have lived after Josiah have been hard. There is always a sense of someone missing and that our family is just not complete. I dread when people ask me how many children I have because I honestly want to answer 2 out of 3. I hate denying Josiah’s life and death. 

As I look at the picture, I see a girl who had hope, excitement, and anticipation of the joy we were to meet. 

I still am part of that person. But I know things that I didn’t then. I had experienced death, grief, and the pain of missed loved ones. But nothing like this. There was no way to make it feel better with the clichés I had used before. I don’t believe that Josiah’s death was God’s plan. God’s plan is that we may have life and have it abundantly (John 10:10). I don’t believe that God needed another angel because frankly that makes little sense to me and is not in the character of who I know God to be. I don’t believe ‘everything happens for a reason’ similarly to why I don’t believe this was God’s plan or that Josiah had to die for some unknown reason. The reason he died because something physically happened to cause him to stop living. 

But somehow amongst all of the things I don’t know or don’t believe, I still know we are going to be okay. 

This okay I’m talking about is different than I think most people tend to understand. Obviously, Josiah is still dead and that will never feel “okay.” And I know someday we will all die, I know I will have to grieve the deaths of many more loved ones. And I lay awake at night most nights worrying about the things that could happen to the 2 of my 3 that are here, anything from something life threatening to someone being unkind to them. None of that is “okay.” But yet we go on. 

The okay I feel is eternal. The okay I feel is the comfort, peace, and hope that God is with us in our grief. The shortest verse in the Bible is “Jesus wept” and I think it says it all. I take comfort knowing that Jesus knows this pain and weeps with us. I also am reassured of God’s love as I dwell in the truth of the words from Josiah’s funeral “Let the little children come to me; do not stop them; for it is to such as these that the kingdom of God belongs.” This kingdom of God holds God’s children, welcomes them, and loves them all. 

And that is more than okay. 

Whose Beauty Is It?

Yesterday something odd happened. I was at Panera and thought I was ordering my food. The cashier made a few corny jokes and then before I left said: “I hope your day is as beautiful as you are.” I didn’t say anything and just walked away a little puzzled about what had happened. (and also without my order number because he was too busy hitting on me to do his job) So as I sat there waiting for my sandwich I thought about what just happened and that has continued until now. 

Honestly, when he first said it, I felt creeped out, but I tried to be nice about it. I tried to tell myself, just take it as a compliment and go on, what’s it hurt to have some tell you you’re beautiful? 

When I was leaving I was validated in my gut feeling to be creeped out and somewhat violated as I ran into the gentleman again (he was coming back from break as I was leaving) and he saw me, smiled, and said: “fancy seeing you here.” Again I said nothing and walked away quickly thanking God that it was the middle of the day with people around and hoping that I never see this guy again. 

So now I’ve thought of this from many angles. Maybe he was just trying to be nice or trying to flirt with me so I’d be interested in seeing him again (so maybe he didn’t see the ring on my finger also). Maybe he took my niceness and smile as something more than me being a kind person. And maybe, or definitely, I should have said something back, because that is the part I have control over. 

Maybe I should have said something like “My beauty is not yours to comment on.” Because it’s not. I did not dress this way (a loose-fitting, high-collared shirt with a sweater) so that you may look at me and make an opinion. I did not fix my hair or put on make-up so that you could make lame jokes and then use a quick line like it should get you somewhere. 

Here’s the thing, my beauty is not yours to comment on and I am not an object for you to decide at face-value, beautiful or not. In mulling over this for the last 24 hours I’ve realized, beauty is an intimate thing. It’s mine to feel when I catch myself in the mirror between chasing after my two small children. It’s my husband’s to feel in those moments when you look at your love, amongst the mess of your day-to-day life and realize how much love you have for that person and how much beauty they bring to your world. It is my children’s to feel as they play with my hair, giggling as they cover and uncover my face to play peek-a-boo. It is God’s, as I am another part of creation, which was lovingly created in the image of God and in beauty and brokenness gets to be called child of God. 

It’s not for someone who doesn’t know my gifts, my passion, my love, or even my name. 

So later today, I will kindly call the manager to ask him to tell the cashier that I did not appreciate this, it made me uncomfortable, it was completely inappropriate, and I hope that this does not happen again, to myself, or others. 

Transitions, Grief, and Life

Transitions are hard. Grief is hard. Sometimes, life is just hard.

:: TRANSITIONS :: Recently my husband and I happily accepted calls to serve a congregation in Little Rock, Arkansas. We have been excited about this call and congregation since we first heard about them and still are. We feel this is where God is calling our family and has prepared us to use our gifts. One thing I seemed to forget in all the excitement is that no matter how right the transition is and how wonderful the new thing will be, transitions are hard. We are used to transitions. This move is my 20th move, the 7th city I have lived in, Noah’s 3rd state to live in in his 18 months of life. I am used to moving. I am used to new. I am used to transitions. I probably overly romanticized this one, likely because we have been in transition since we got engaged over 5 years ago. We knew at that point that seminary was on the horizon for Josh (I was still an unknown) and we were preparing to leave the life we had grown to love, the ministry we loved, and the place we became us, let alone it is the place I called home.  We moved to Iowa for seminary. We moved to family housing after our first year because our family was growing. We moved to Chicago our 3rd year for the opportunity to learn from the experience of ministry internships. And our final year we were happy to move back to the campus that became our home away from home and to being one step closer to being sent out. While each of these transitions offered new joys, each also was difficult in its own way. This last move to our first call was one I’d been waiting for anxiously with joy for a while. We would finally get to live somewhere that 9 months in, we wouldn’t feel like we should start pulling out the boxes and sorting what comes and what goes. We could start to feel at home. And for some reason, the excitement of that whole idea made me forget that no matter how great the opportunities are waiting for you, the road to get there is not easy.

:: GRIEF :: As many of you know, but some of you may not, 3 years ago today, our first son, Josiah, was stillborn at 37-weeks. When I think back to this time in our lives it is hard to even fully remember it. I remember many of the details, but the sequence is a blur of a week of the greatest joy, to hold our son, and the greatest sorrow, to know that was all we would get to spend with him and he was not there. There are certain senses that are triggered and bring it all back as if I was living it now. That is the odd thing about grief 3 years out. I knew it had to get easier because everyone told me at some point everything of your life stops being so hard, I think it was best explained as, it doesn’t actually get easier to not have that person with you, but the rawness of the heartache gets less. You never get over your baby (or anyone!) dying. You don’t really move on. You just keep going because the days don’t ask if you are ready or feel like it, they just come and amongst the death you are feeling and living, life somehow continues.

:: LIFE :: Last night, I was talking to a good friend about how difficult transitions are and how much I just want to feel settled. I was telling her how I feel kind of ridiculous for feeling like this is the most stressful time in our life (two new jobs, new city, new apartment, trying to buy a house, Noah starting daycare, baby on the way, and more, but you get the picture) so I felt overwhelmed with my life and pointed out that 3 years ago our baby died, and somehow right now things seem more stressful and that is ridiculous. I am grateful for good friends in times like these, because she reminded me that this is a stressful time and even though our baby died 3 years ago, we are still allowed to just have regular bad days.

So in a roundabout way, this reminds me of the advice given to Josh and me about 3 years ago, advice that I found so helpful and begging of reminder that I named this blog after it, yet somehow still always forget. But here it is: be gentle with yourselves.

Be gentle because life is hard. Be gentle because sometimes you just need a break. Be gentle because it won’t always go as easy as you thought it would, but it doesn’t mean that it is not still something God is calling you to. I would even add to this advice, at least to myself for now, be honest with yourself also. Be honest that it’s not easy.

God does not need you to beat yourself up about the things that trouble you and God also does not need you to lie about how it’s going.

Gardener to God (a sermon on John 20:1-2, 11-18)

This is a short sermon which I wrote and preach at Redeemer Lutheran Church in Hinsdale, IL on June 25, 2014 on John 20:1-2, 11-18 

In today’s text, we find Mary in the midst of grief, confusion, and loss. In John’s account, Jesus has died and Mary is going to the tomb, but rather than finding the body of the Lord, she finds the tomb has been opened.

In a panic, Mary runs to find some of the other disciples. As they return to the tomb, they are greeted by angels in the place where Jesus’ body had been.

Mary is still weeping and the angels ask her why. She replies “they have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him.”                   Mary thinks that someone has taken Jesus away from her, but that is not true, Jesus is right next to her, only she doesn’t see him, she sees a gardener.

I think this is a very relatable feeling.

Many times in life we are feeling hopeless and despairing,             we may try and seek Jesus but only find seemingly empty tombs.       

Like in the early stages of writing this message.                   I kept searching for where God was in the text, trying to find what the Holy Spirit was leading me to and as I could not find the words, I felt as if I kept seeing the gardener, not the Lord.

Or maybe the more serious times in our lives.              

You may or may not know this, but Noah is not our first child.

In August of 2012, our son Josiah was born, stillborn 3 weeks before his due date.

Throughout Josiah’s pregnancy, it was easy to see God. I don’t know that I have ever had a greater appreciation for creation or the Creator than the first time I felt Josiah’s kicks.

Josiah was a very healthy baby          until he wasn’t.

Without warning or a cause known to us, he died.

This may be something like what Mary felt.

Jesus ministry and movement was growing and going well, there were alleluias and hosannas in the highest all over the place,       until there wasn’t.

Then it happens. Jesus has died and has been placed in a tomb.

Days later, Mary goes to the tomb seeking the lord and cannot find him.

I remember the days after Josiah had died. I felt lost.

I prayed that God would heal Josiah, I prayed that God would undo this death and let him live.

I was probably much angrier at God than Mary Magdalen is in the text, but God was not where I thought he was supposed to be.

Mary thought Jesus would be laying there                and he wasn’t.

He was instead standing next to her in the tomb.

My expectations were met in a similar way,             Jesus was not undoing Josiah’s death like I thought he was supposed to, but he was standing next to me.

It happened in a reading at Josiah’s funeral.

It was from Mark and it was a text where Jesus says, “Let the little children come to me; do not stop them; for it is to such as these that the kingdom of God belongs.”

Just as Mary knew the Lord as he called her name. Jesus went from gardener to God as I heard this gospel promise and I knew Christ was with us and also with Josiah. It was not how I thought it was supposed to be, but there was Jesus.

This is the part we often overlook about Jesus.          We share stories of how Jesus loved the outcasts and healed the sick. We celebrate him in the bread and wine. We acknowledge that he has taken our sin so that we may be forgiven and have eternal life. We confess but don’t often discuss that when Jesus died on the cross, he descended into the dead, he took on sin, the very thing that separates us from God, and took on death, the very thing that separates us from each other.

Through Jesus’ redeeming work on the cross, he conquered their powers so that they may no longer separate us.

Yes, sin and death are still very present in the world but know that when you encounter them, the one who conquered them encounters them with you and will continue to stand by you.                 

Amen. 

From Dust You Were Made and to Dust You Shall Return

Ash Wednesday is the start to my favorite time in the church year. The time spent in Lent has been one I have loved since I started attending church in high school. To love this contemplative, alleluia-less season means many things. Maybe I love it so much because I’ve never actually followed through on the giving up something practice that so many take part in. I think I gave up pop one year, but I was allowed to drink it on Sundays because someone had said that Sundays are not included in the 40 days, and because it’s the Sabbath and self-denial is hard work! Work – and you aren’t supposed to do that on the Sabbath, so go to church and enjoy a Dr. Pepper at your post-worship Olive Garden lunch and rest the day away– that was my theory then anyway. Nevertheless, I don’t think my denial of pop brought me any closer to God, prepared me for Easter, or even helped to understand temptation (I don’t think I lasted the 40 days either). The aspects of Lent that I have participated in are traditional in other ways – soup suppers and Holden Evening Prayer – how can you not love soup and Holden? It is such a beautiful service and I especially love this practice because it is one I’ve taken part in since I knew Lent was a thing. As soon as the familiar songs begin, it brings back memories of past Lents and triggers a reflection which continues through the season. It feels like adding a ring to a tree’s growth every time we encounter these 40 days. The songs and prayers from this service are a way to touch and revisit each of those rings from years passed. Ash Wednesday is the kick off to the whole thing.

Ashes to Ashes / Dust to Dust

On Ash Wednesday, I had a whole mix of emotions as I looked down at my sleeping 1-month-old startle as he received ashes in the sign of the cross on his forehead and heard the words “from dust you were made, and to dust you shall return”. I thought of my love of Lent - where my life had been in previous years and where it is now. I thought of Noah and wondered how will he take on these practices in his own life. I think most of all I was overwhelmed by looking down at one of my sons with an ash cross on his small face, and thinking of my other son who sits in ashes in a marked box in our bedroom.

From dust you were made, and from dust you shall return.

I think Noah’s response to this reminder of our mortality was one we should all have. Startle. Yes, death is a part of life and one day it will happen to us all. So be startled. This startle is not fear. This startle does not petrify us. This startle is a brief wake up from our comfortable on-going lives. This startle is a chance to reflect and ponder where our lives are because, at any unknown time, it is dust which we shall return. Now I doubt that is what Noah was doing at this time (although I am his mom and I think he is brilliant, so I’m not totally ruling it out). His following response is also more than appropriate – he smiled and returned to his nap peacefully. 

This startle should not upset you. Put this startling news to good use, so you can smile and happily return to your life when your Lenten journey ends.

My Startle – My Lenten Journey

For Lent I have decided to take on a new practice. Be gentle with yourself. It is the name of my blog which suggests that I think it’s important and do it all the time, right? Well no, that is a lie – not the importance part, but the actually doing it. These are not words of wisdom that I came up with, so I should explain the namesake. When Josiah died and a new semester of seminary started the next week, Josh and I met with one of our professors. While discussing whether or not we should start classes and how to live in our new reality, this was his advice: Be gentle with yourselves. If you are having a good day, allow yourself to have a good day without feeling guilty and if the next day is a bad day, let it be a bad day and not feel like the good day was a lie.                  But beyond this life circumstance, shouldn’t we all be gentle with ourselves at all points in our lives? On the good days, the bad days, and the days in-between, be gentle with yourself.                          

I am startled. I am reviewing my life, knowing, like with Josiah, that we never know when our time here is done. I am startled. I am using this Lenten journey to give up the things that keep me from being the best me because they distract me from who God created me to be. And I am being gentle with myself in preparation for Easter. Easter is the time which we celebrate the hope we have in Christ. We also celebrate the grace God has for us. And this is why I am taking on the practice of being gentle with myself – here’s the thing, when you are not gentle with yourself, not only do you get in the way of being your best self, but more importantly you do not allow yourself to accept and experience God’s grace. You will be too busy with why you should have been better, why you need to do more, why you are not enough – but I mean really, if God can forgive all, if God extends limitless grace to all, can’t we give ourselves a little?

I am practicing being gentle with myself already because obviously Ash Wednesday was 9 days ago – so I will let the time that has past go, and start here and now.

I will be doing this journey with somewhat of a format. Each week, I will be gentle with myself with a focus I have chosen which I deemed as “problem areas” for my self-gentleness (okay I thought I’d try out that phrase but it sounds weird so I won’t use it again). Each week will have goals that go with that week’s focus and I will blog about them each which. (Much of this journey came to me while reading Rachel Held Evans A Year of Biblical Womanhood – read it, it’s great!)

The focuses are:

-Be gentle with yourself, with a discerning spirit 

-Be gentle with yourself, with a realistic attitude

-Be gentle with yourself, with flexibility

-Be gentle with yourself, with intention 

-Be gentle with yourself, with forgiveness

-Be gentle with yourself, with real presence

From dust you were made and to dust you shall return – so in the meantime, be gentle with yourself.