Preparing for Ash Wednesday: Thursday's Reflection

Ash Wednesday is in a few days, and oh no! I haven't decided what my spiritual practice will be during Lent. 

My inbox is full of opportunities. Take this online class or this one or that one or here's an email about a new book of devotions suitable for lectio divina during Lent. Or what about all the books with a Lenten focus already on my shelves? Are there podcasts devoted to Lenten practices. Probably. 

Maybe it is time to return to a focused practice of centering prayer--do it faithfully every day, twice a day, as Father Keating suggests.
Maybe I should consider fasting one day a week, preferably Wednesday because I would feel even more self-righteous when I go to the evening service. Last year I hosted labyrinth sessions every Wednesday evening. Should I do that again?

What should I give up? What should I add in? Is this the time to try something new, something outside of my comfort zone or is this the time to return to a practice used in the past, but kept in my back pocket for when it might be needed? Or do I deepen my core practices--writing in my journal and sitting in quiet meditation each morning? 

I feel a bit overwhelmed with ideas and possibilities, and I wonder how my word for the year, "fullness," intersects with Lent. 

Of course, what I most need to do--right now--is move into silence and allow the voice of God to whisper in my heart. Maybe what I need to do is to let a practice choose me, find me for these sacred days. 

Maybe I need to remember that everyday is sacred.

Maybe I need to remember that a Lenten practice, any kind of spiritual practice, regardless of one's tradition, is not about the doing, but about the being with God. 

                                 It could take you days
                                 to wander these rooms.
                                 Forty at least.

                                 And so let this be
                                 a season for wandering,
                                 for trusting the breaking,
                                 for trusting the rupture
                                 that will return to you

                                 to the One who waits,
                                 who watches
                                 who works within
                                 the rending
                                 to make your heart
                                 whole. 
                                              from "Rend Your Heart"
                                              Circle of Grace
                                              Jan Richardson

An Invitation
Do you feel called to a new practice? An old practice? I would love to know. 

Entering Lent --Not Just for Christians: Thursday's Reflection

Yesterday was Ash Wednesday in the Christian religion. The day the sign of the cross is made on our foreheads as the words, "Remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return," are recited. 

The ritual is called "the imposition of ashes." And frankly, receiving them is an imposition. In fact, all of Lent is an imposition because Lent demands more of us than we are normally willing to do or be. 

During Lent each of us who identifies as a Christian is asked to:
*   Give up the illusion that I am in control of my life.
*   Examine my addictions and yes, do something about them.
*   Increase my time in prayer and become more disciplined in my spiritual practices.
*   Go to church not only on Sunday, but also Wednesday, and then there is Holy Week, when I might as well take a sleeping bag and camp-out in the Fellowship Hall.
*    Stretch into a deeper relationship with God, which may mean trying a different spiritual practice, reaching out of my comfort zone.
*   Pay attention. Stay awake, unlike the disciples who fell asleep when Jesus prayed in the garden. 
*   Consider my own mortality and how is it I am to live now.


Barbara Brown Taylor calls Lent "Outward Bound for the soul" and Paula Huston refers to it as a time for "spiritual recalibration.

Yes, Lent can feel more like an imposition than an invitation.

But here's the good news. I am not alone on this journey. I have gathered a wealth of guides for the 40 days of wilderness:  
* Devotional readings from Jan Richardson and others, 
* Those Sunday and Wednesday worship services I mentioned--always rich in wisdom and inspiration
* My spiritual director who meets me with her open and insightful heart.
* My spiritual directees who trust me to listen and therefore, I dig deeper to be that listening presence.
* Time to walk the labyrinth, to study and write and be silent. 
* And the promise of Easter.

Obviously, this time of the year has special and specific meaning for Christians, but it can also be a time of "spiritual recalibration" for people of all faiths. Or no faith. Who couldn't benefit from being more aware of how we live and move in the world and how we can each become more caring and giving? Who couldn't benefit from living with a more open heart and being more intentional about our steps on the journey?

           If Lent is to be real at all, we must recognize that
           we are on a journey that twists  and turns between
           what we were before and what we are beginning
           now. There is no settling down. There is only the 
           call of the New Beginning where God dwells in the
           heart and takes all our fear, all our loneliness away.
                                            Joan Chittister

An Invitation
What does Lent mean to you? I would love to know. 

Tuesday's Reflection: Knowing When to Change

At the beginning of the Lenten season, our senior pastor said, "Let Lent change you." I have been sitting with that simple sentence all these past weeks, and now that we Christians are in the Easter season, I wonder what change  may have occurred within myself. Has there, in fact, been any change? 

What about you? Did Lent change you or now that it is April, and we are supposedly in the season of spring, was there some way you let March change you or winter change you? 

One of my life mottos is "If you do what you've always done, you get what you've always gotten." This is one of those simple and obvious statements, but I like it because it doesn't propose change for change's sake. Sometimes doing what you've always done results in ongoing good outcomes and positive wellbeing. Maybe it is following a certain recipe, knowing the soup that is served for dinner will always be delicious. Or maybe it is taking a walk every morning, knowing you will feel energized by the time you walk back in through your front door. Or is there a spiritual practice that nurtures you on a regular basis?

But sometimes we get stuck repeating and repeating a pattern, a habit, an action even though we know the results are not good for us or perhaps don't move us forward in our life or don't bring about a change, even though we say we want change. How often do you have a problem with your computer or your phone and you keep trying the same steps, hoping there will be a connection? What makes us think that doing something again will work when it didn't the first time or the fifth time? 

Recently I read the following statements. Unfortunately, I don't know where I read them, so I can't give proper credit.

           May I see what I do.

           May I do it differently.

           May I make this a way of life.

I love the simplicity of these statements, too, but I would amend them just a bit. 

           May I see what I do.

           May I know when I need to do it differently.

           May I do it differently.

           May I make this a way of life. 

I don't know if I am entering this season changed or not. I don't see any huge changes. I have certainly not lost any weight recently nor  have I made any big adjustments in my routines or habits. We have come through lots of big changes in the last year plus, and I am grateful for the one day follows another day that we seem to be in now. I know, however, change can also refer to the more subtle changes in one's attitude, one's outlook, and one's ability to listen to that inner voice. I know change can mean clearing the space to be more open to the movement of God in one's life. 

I hope Lent has made me more open. 

I hope I am more aware of what leads me closer to God and what closes me off from God.

I hope I can make that a way of life.

An Invitation

Have the last few weeks or months changed you? If so, in what way? How aware are you of what leads you closer to the person you were created to be and to the life you want to live? I would love to know. 

Tuesday's Reflection: Walking in the Sand

Walking a straight line on a sandy beach is not easy. The sand shifts and gives way as I walk, swallowing, capturing my feet. Even so I relish the coolness of the sand, the softness, and even how it clings to my skin and hides between my toes. I am awed by how the sand shifts and gives way as I create my own path, but when I look back, the sand has nearly filled in the indentations of my footprints. Had I really been there? 

Sand seems to welcome movement. In Zanzibar many years ago I celebrated my 50th birthday by practicing T'ai Chi on a beach, my dancing feet creating a crevice. Years later I led a circle of women on a Captiva beach in that same T'ai Chi meditation at sunset. We formed spiral patterns, our feet becoming one with the sand. 

Soon, however, water and wind erased all signs of our presence on the beach. No, sand is not a firm foundation, and yet the way it shifts and gives way forces me to pay attention, just as the ashes I received in the form of a cross on my forehead at last week's Ash Wednesday service reminds me to pay attention to the sacredness of life. When I returned home, I washed the smudge of ash off my forehead, and the next day no one knew I participated in the ritual marking the beginning of the church season of Lent, just as the beach no longer carries a sign of my presence. 

But I know I was there. Both on the beach and in the darkness of the sanctuary. 

I walked a labyrinth recently. I felt each measured step, pausing at each curve, reviewing the many twists and turns of the last couple years in my life. I moved forward easily and lightly not worrying about when I would reach the center--a new sensation for me. Often when I reach the center of a labyrinth I am hungry for revelation, for insight and direction, but this time it was enough just to be there. I had not doubted my ability to get there, but nonetheless, it was good to actually arrive. 

And then it was time to walk back out, to retrace the steps I had made, but there were no visible steps. The path was clear with no sign I had made the journey. Had I really walked that pathway? Had I really been there? 

I am reminded of something Luci Shaw says in her book Adventure of Ascent, Field Notes from a Lifelong Journey:
http://www.lucishaw.com

          Why do I struggle to find meaning in everything I
          see, and everything that happens? I'm wishing I could
          learn to simply attend to what is there, and then to
          open myself to being seen and enlightened by God. 
          Might this become the place of balance and
          peacefulness? p. 77

She goes on to quote Annie Dillard.

             We are here to notice everything so each thing gets 
          noticed and Creation need not play to an empty house.

If I could lighten my desire to find meaning, to have a presence and to leave my mark, I suspect I would experience more peace and be more able to pay attention and to notice the shifting sands.

An Invitation
At what times in your life have you wondered about the meaning of your life and if and how you have left a mark? What have you done to find peace as the shifting sands fill in your footprints? What spiritual practices enhance your ability to notice and pay attention? I would love to know. 

A Gift
In case you missed it, this essay by Oliver Sacks recently published in the New York Times is well worth reading. http://www.nytimes.com/2015/02/19/opinion/oliver-sacks-on-learning-he-has-terminal-cancer.html?_r=0
                                                
         

"I Invite You to the Discipline of Lent."

     Today is Ash Wednesday in the Christian liturgical year. The first day of Lent. Lent, which comes from the English word lenten, meaning "spring," referring to the season and to the rejuvenation of the soul, is a period of 40 days leading to Easter. (Counting Sundays, there are actually 46 days.)
     I have not attended an Ash Wednesday service for many years, but because I have been exploring the idea of intentions this year, it seems natural to think about spiritual disciplines during Lent.
     As a child, I recall hearing friends talk about giving up candy or sugar or tv or another routine pleasure, but that wasn't something we did in my family. I was raised Lutheran and even though Lutheran churches seem to now practice the imposition of ashes, I don't remember the ritual being part of Ash Wednesday services of my youth. We went to church and confessed our sins, and it was all very solemn, but only in church. Nothing changed in my daily routine. Perhaps my parents prayed more or read the Bible more, but my life moved on steadily toward Good Friday and the prettiness of Easter. I became a convert to Lent in later years. And then I lapsed, which brings me to today.  
     Sitting in an unfamiliar church, I heard the words, "I invite you to the discipline of Lent," and I processed up the center aisle to a pastor I don't know and as he said the words, "Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return," he made the sign of the cross on my forehead with soft ash. I have ashes smeared on my forehead, but am I ready to enter Lent and what exactly does that mean anyway?


Lenten Resources
     This morning I gathered a stack of books from my library to help illuminate what this Lent might hold for me.
     A Benedictine monk, Brother Victor-Antoine D'Avila-Latourrette gave me some practical direction in A Monastic Year, Reflections from the Monastery as he outlines the principles of Lenten practice found in the Rule of St Benedict: refrain from sin, pray sincerely, read the scriptures, repent and repent, and fast. Daunting!
     Joyce Rupp in her book Inviting God In, Scriptural Reflections and Prayers Throughout the Year, quotes from the Hebrew Testament, "Return to the Lord, your God, for he is gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love, and relents from punishing." Joel 2:13. I like her term "re-turning" and wonder what the implication might be for me. She says "...there is always a part of one's heart that has not yet been given over to God..." Perhaps my Lenten discipline is to probe the ways I have not surrendered.
     "Outward Bound for the soul," is Barbara Brown Taylor's term to describe Lent. "Forty days to remember what it is like to live by the grace of God alone and not by what we can supply for ourselves." ("Lenten Discipline" in Home By Another Way)
     Finally, I read these words in In Wisdom's Path, Discovering the Sacred in Every Season, by Jan L. Richardson: "The season begins with ashes and invites us into a time of stripping away all that distracts us from recognizing the God who dwells at our core, reminding us that we are ashes and dust. God beckons us during Lent to consider what is elemental and essential in our lives."


The Task of Aging
     Lent is a sacred time for Christians, but the invitation to know and live one's essence knows no religious or spiritual boundaries. In fact, this is the main task of the wisdom time of aging. I will do my best to accept this invitation. If not now, when?


An Invitation to Comment 
What have you given up for Lent now or in the past? Or what spiritual practice or discipline have you added to your life during a Lenten season? 
OR if Lent has not been part of your tradition have there been times in your life when you deliberately eliminated a habit that interfered with your relationship with God? I would love to know.