A Check-up

There is one week left in Lent, so it seems appropriate to check in. Whenever somebody begins a new exercise regime or a medicinal diet, it is always all right to check in—how’re things going? how’re you feeling? do you see progress? what still needs tweaking? What is true in those contexts is certainly true as we endeavor to improve our spiritual life. So—how’re things going? how’re you feeling? do you see progress? what still needs tweaking?

One parishioner has told me that the Lenten Wreath has been a wonderful addition for them, so much so they recommended it to a friend at another church. The intentional walk through things and thoughts that get in the way of a full celebration of Easter has been helpful in clearing away what needed clearing. 

The Confirmands have given us a set of meditation centers in the Fellowship Hall to ponder and pray through the different episodes of Christ’s last walk through Jerusalem. Some are already finding these powerful reminders of what Christ did and how it happened as they prepare for Easter morning. 

Some have been coming on Wednesday nights to hear meditations on the Sermon on the Mount that also help us identify things and thoughts within us that cloud our being fully present with Jesus, not just in celebration of Easter, but in general. Sometimes we need a tap on the shoulder so we won’t miss something special before us.

Others have been doing their own thing where they are. 

Whatever the practice, my prayer is that it has been something meaningful and effective in helping to see the wonder and joy unfolding in Easter. 

I also still keep in mind those for whom the season still lacks a sparkle and wonder. Lent, by nature, is a reflective time. It is quiet and subdued. It is meant to be a time of silent wonder. That very nature inhibits celebration. Not to be morbid, but it is like a funeral in the case of someone who lived and loved long and full. It is a celebration of a good, rich life, but it is somber because it is a funeral. Everyone knows why we are there, but knowing precludes calling it joy—joy seems out of place, off kilter. Yet, to push this analogy just a bit further, that is what separates joy from simple happiness. Joy runs deeper. It is being able to accept what is present in the assurance that God is also present with the fullness of God’s redeeming grace. Endings are hard—something is finished—but they are also reason to affirm that God is good and grace abounds.

Keep walking toward Jerusalem. 

We call it Holy Week because it truly is sacred. Each day draws us more deeply into the story of Easter. Palm Sunday is a joyous celebration, but one in which only the man in the middle of parade knows what is really happening. Each successive day confronts the misapprehension of the crowds with a lesson showing them the real purpose of what happens. Temple, street, and neighborhood are met with Jesus as the Christ with the invitation to see him as he is, instead of how we want him to be. 

The more we are able to see him as he is, the more profound becomes our entrance into Maundy Thursday and Good Friday—here is truly and completely the New Covenant between God and humanity. God enters the fullness of our experience, embracing it and us within it. God overcomes all forms of darkness in our experience, ending their power. God releases us from all fear, for God destroys all that is scary, including death itself, the ultimate fear. But God does all of this on God’s own terms, choosing a cross by which to save the world—victory through a very real defeat.

Easter is the victory dance. 

To dance, learn the steps. To learn the steps, prepare through Lent. To prepare, learn to see through God’s eyes. To see through God’s eyes, sit with God until God takes your eyes as his own.

Keep walking. God is with you.