Sparrows, House Finches, Gold Finches, Grackles, Red-winged Blackbirds, and the occasional Starling have taken up residence. When it was 75 degrees yesterday, Robins stealthily tilted their heads, listening for their next meal beneath the Eairth. Today, with the wind howling and Winter reminding us that it isn’t Spring yet, chonky Squirrels suspiciously enter the yard, one eye fixed on the door looking for Tecumseh and Brigid, the other on the scattered birdseed on the ground. I love all these visitors!
In the wind, last year’s Sunflower stalks sway. Leaves rustle, occasionally rising and swirling, forming tiny tornadoes. My backyard probably annoys some. I didn’t rake all the leaves or turn over the garden. Yikes! I know! All the judgment. Instead, I wanted to leave the dead Plants and leaves for cover. Insects and other critters see our annoyances as places to dwell during those long Winter months. While my neighbors have, on multiple occasions, started up their small engines to rid their yards of Winter’s residue, I have not. I don’t mind the dead things in my yard. I love the process of becoming unfolding in my little patch of Eairth.
Our second week of Lent entry, written by Kelli Owens, gets to the heart of what this season asks us, “What is asking to die?” Dead Flowers and barren Trees are a noticeable reminder that there is a season for everything. The wind blows, and my windchimes sing, while the hanging Flower basket blows to and fro, a mere relic of what it once was last Summer. Things have died, but beneath and within, new life is happening. What is dead has released nutrients and is becoming life for other creatures. Returning. Reciprocity. Dare I say, Resurrection?
Across the way, a Maple Tree is budding. Beneath the leaves on the other side of my fence, something green emerges from the tans and grays. Death, yes, and life! Is this not Lent? We contemplate our mortality not as some spiritual masochism. “On the contrary, Lent is the one proof we have that the end of everything we face, all the struggles required of us, it is really meant to become new life in us.” (Joan Chittister)
I took a risk and opted not to ‘clean up my yard.’ Okay, that’s not a risk and is more dramatic than anything. But the dead Plants in my yard invite me to consider how I’m risking my life for the sake of Love. They ask me to consider what needs winnowing in my life so the fruits of the Spirit may emerge. Even in dying, a new thing is coming forth. It’s like what Paul says in Philippians 1, “For to me, living is Christ and dying is gain.” To resist dying leads to deeper suffering. The good news of our faith is that in dying and rising, what happens in the waters of our baptism, death is transformed!
My yard won’t win me any awards. No one will mistake me as a meticulous gardener. But it is a place for the wild things of Logan County—a place where death and life intersect and where Resurrection occurs. And, to me, that’s pretty wild.
The top left photo is of Brigid carrying a piece of a Sunflower root.
The second photo on the right is of a Tulip emerging through a pile of leaves.
The last photo centered below is of Tecumseh chatting with one of his many Squirrel friends.
“The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you; The market only wants to buy and sell you; Fight to stay awake; Choose the path you take; Even if you don’t know where it’s going; Trust your own unknowing; (Don’t go back to sleep)” Jan Garrett
Reflection Title: Becoming Risk-Takers
Scripture: Genesis 17.1-7, 15-16 & Mark 8.31-38
Abraham and Sarah were not young in today’s Old Testament reading. In fact, the Biblical narrative records the almost insulting observation that at the time of this Genesis text they were “as good as dead” (Romans 4). This fascinates me since Jesus also talks about what it means to be willing to die in the Gospel lesson from Mark 8. What do these deaths have to do with each other? Some would say the answer is risk-taking faith. Just as Abraham and Sarah stepped into their faith in the seemingly absurd promise of God to give them a son, so the words of Jesus invite us to a similar risk-taking – perhaps even reckless - posture.
This adventure we call our Lenten journey requires a bit of grit. When we read Jesus’ words and begin to sit with the concept of what in us might need to die, we get uncomfortable. And rightly so! Risk, by very definition, asks us to step outside of the norm. Or maybe better: the known. Some have found it helpful to intentionally center a prayerful question when that familiar discomfort arises. One that often accompanies me is this: “What is asking to die?”
And while that may seem abrupt for some, to me it’s a way to recognize that just as the life flows generously in my happy pansies in Spring, they also have their day when it withdraws and they die each Fall. They tell me when it’s time, just as your tomato plants or cucumber vines tell you. In honoring the limited lifespan of all growing things, we recognize that God, who is the Source of life, has made everything appropriate in its time (Ecclesiastes 3:11).
Perhaps what it takes for us to become risk-takers like our ancestors in faith is to recognize that what inspired them can also inspire us. We, too, can envision and participate in working toward the day when “all shall be well and all shall be well and all manner of things shall be well,” even if that day is not today. Even if today we only see death.
Perhaps it is the process of both reckoning with death but then choosing to participate anyway in this work of faith that we become prophets of a future not our own.
The Questions for the Week:
What do you feel when you read the words “risk-takers”?
How could you intentionally center the concept of God as life-giver and death-bringer this week? Does that raise tension for you?
The Practices for the Week:
Spend time touching, looking at, being present to a living being – maybe a houseplant or a pet. (A human, only if they give consent.) Use this experience as a prayer point to thank God for the risk of imagination and participation it took for them to be alive.
Spend time with something that reminds you of a being who is no longer alive. Let the feelings well up, whatever they may be, and know that risk-taking faith never asks us to be stoic. It’s always okay to grieve. See if any shifts happen inside you as you meditate on the life that was and how its time is over. Perhaps try noticing how you have changed due to this life and its passing. This, too, is part of becoming.
Want to learn about Centering Prayer first hand? Watch the video below. The Rev. Cynthia Bourgeault explains this practice and then leads centering prayer. Most of what Cynthia says in the video is found below. We gather as a community to practice centering prayer on Sundays at 3 p.m. during Lent at 1PC Lincoln.
The theme for our Lenten journey at First Presbyterian Church [1PC] Lincoln is "Becoming." Lent asks us, "Who do you/we want to become?" Into the wilderness of the season, we join Jesus as we journey towards our true selves. The Lenten season always begins with the same Gospel of the temptation of Jesus in the desert. He has gone into the desert for forty days for his initiation, as it were, and this is a beautiful telling of the demons we all must face to grow up and become mature.
Out in the desert among wild beasts and angels, Jesus was tempted. Like Jesus, we are often tempted to deny our identity as one created in the image and likeness of God. Once we doubt that, it's all downhill from there. It seems that Jesus was special because he never doubted he was God's beloved son. Power is at the heart of the temptation stories [in Matthew and Luke]. The first temptation is to misuse power; the second is to co-op religion for one's gain; the third is political power – and the temptation to receive power for power's sake.
How did Jesus resist these temptations? While we don't have all the information, we know he fasted and prayed. We also know that the Holy Spirit ministered to him at the end of these spiritual disciplines. By God's grace, which was poured out upon him – and us – at baptism, Jesus emptied himself of his wants and was filled with God's presence. Jesus let go – practice emptiness – and welcomed the Spirit as a companion to his life. At the end of the fasting and praying, Jesus emerges, pointing toward the reign of God and the invitation to see beyond our mind's eyes.
Centering prayer allows us to repent and return to our belonging to God. Jesus found his way back to his belonging through prayer, so we can, too. Centering prayer invites us to return to this place within us, too. The focus of centering prayer isn't words but our abiding in God. Centering prayer is difficult in a world where words constantly bombard us, both without and within. However, it is also a forgiving one that, in reality, requires of us little: simply our consent and the willingness and faith to continue to create space when we face distractions.
We must understand ourselves to become who God longs for us to be. Centering prayer is a practice that invites us to empty ourselves of whatever prevents us from being who God calls us to be. In his letter to the Philippians, St. Paul described this pathway of descent as kenosis. The Greek word kenosis means "emptying" and, as a theological principle, calls us to empty ourselves of everything to receive God's presence. Practically, it means living simply so as not to be distracted by "things" and letting go of judgments and prejudices to move toward unity with all of creation and, ultimately, with God. Paul expresses it in the following way: Although he was in the form of God, Jesus did not deem equality with God as something to be grasped at. Instead, he emptied himself, being born in the likeness of humanity…
So, now that all the theology is behind us, why centering prayer for Lent? Centering prayer is a pathway of return – to our true selves, which is the journey we embark on for Lent. And we return to our true selves – the hidden point of Divinity dwelling with us – whenever we let go of our thoughts and welcome the presence and action of God. The starting point for centering prayer is remaining open and saying to every distraction, "Not my will be done, but God's."
In centering prayer, everything begins with and keeps returning to intention. What am I really up to in this prayer? What is my aim as I sit on my chair and set this practice in motion? To be entirely open to God is a good approach. Remember, your thoughts and distractions are part of the process. The deal in this prayer practice is this: if you catch yourself thinking, you let the thought go.
Return to a sacred word to help you release yourself from a thought. Notice it isn't a mantra because a sacred word is a placeholder for your intention. It's the spiritual equivalent of a little red string tied around your finger to remind yourself of your willingness to 'do the deal.' Unlike a mantra, you don't repeat it constantly; you only use it when you realize you've gotten tangled up in a thought. In centering prayer, this gentle release of your thoughts helps us 'consent to God's presence and action within.' It doesn't have to be a sacred word. It can be a breath or a sacred image. Visuals and breathing are classic meditation methods, but they are not centering prayer.
Here are the steps to centering prayer.
Choose a sacred word as the symbol of your willingness to consent to God's presence and action within.
Sitting comfortably and with eyes closed, settle briefly and silently introduce the sacred word as the symbol of your consent to God's presence and action within.
When engaged with your thoughts, return gently to the sacred word.
At the end of the prayer period, remain silent with your eyes closed for a few minutes.
Centering prayer is putting on the mind of Christ – which is what Paul is writing about in the Book of Philippians. Jesus did not cling to power for himself in the wilderness or throughout his ministry, life, and death, but he released himself of such controlling thoughts. Consider his teachings that often begin with: Let go! Don't cling! Don't hoard! Don't assert your importance! Don't fret. This teaching is the same core gesture of centering prayer. This form of prayer isn't about attaining a clear mind, conscious presence, a strong witnessing 'I,' some desired state. In centering prayer, you merely practice the core motion of kenosis: "Let go, make space, unclench" – thought by thought.
Centering prayer is accepting God's presence and action in your life. Empty the doubt and wade into the waters of your belonging.
“The emptiness of the desert makes it possible to learn the almost impossible: the joyful acceptance of our uselessness.” Ivan Illich
Reflection Title: Becoming Who We Are
Scripture: Genesis 9.8-17 & Mark 1.9-15
The first Sunday of Lent always sends us into the wilderness. We read Mark’s account of Jesus’ forty-day stay in the wild this year. Unlike the other Gospel accounts of Jesus’ temptations, Mark provides little detail about what happens there. We know that the Spirit sends Jesus into the wilderness where he is tested, or tempted, by the Satan, and it ends with Jesus resisting these temptations, revealing that whatever keeps us from being on the right path can be dislodged.
The temptation of Jesus in the wilderness references other stories within the Bible. The story of Exodus tells of the Israelites wandering in the wilderness for forty years as they moved toward the land of promise. The testing of Jesus also recalls the story of Elijah and their forty-day journey to Mount Horeb. Jesus, Moses, and Elijah were all tested. All prophets are since going with the status quo is easier than fighting for justice. The wilderness journey is not one of punishment but one of becoming.
Like all of Israel before him, Jesus is forced to take the wrong way, going directly from his baptism into the wilderness of temptation. Being thrust into the desert and its promises of death, he sounds the keynote of his whole mission in advance. The wilderness in Mark’s gospel is always a desert. Out there in the desert, a place of death, it becomes a place of miraculous nourishment and hope. In the wilderness, Jesus gains a deeper understanding of who he is – as God’s beloved and as a human, like you and I. Lent invites us into those wild places of our lives – physically and metaphorically – where we insist God doesn’t dwell. And yet, in those places considered God-forsaken, our identity is found.
Out in the wilderness, we find the way toward God – we become who we are as God’s beloved, too. The emptiness of the wilderness reminds us of our interdependence with God and creation. We find our place among the wild things. Out there, where we truly become, we are invited, like Jesus, to envision a kind of holy disruption grounded in the longing for God to set things right.
The Questions for the Week:
Please read this week’s lesson from Genesis 9.8-17. Why does it matter that God establishes a covenant with all creation and not just humans?
How do you define ‘wilderness?’ Why do you think Mark leaves out the specific temptations of Jesus, unlike the other synoptic details, but explicitly notes Jesus was with the wild animals and that the angels, which can be translated as both messenger and birds, waited on him after his time in the wilderness?
The Hebrew word for wilderness is midba, rooted in the verb dabar, which means ‘speaking.’ Ba-midbar, translated in most cases as ‘the wilderness,’ also means ‘the organ which speaks.’ The wilderness is understood to be a voice that speaks to us. God guides the Israelites from Egypt to the land of promise. How might the wilderness speak to their becoming?
The Practices for the Week:
Throughout Jesus’ ministry, he went into the wilderness to pray. Take this week to go into the wilderness and pray. Maybe you drive to Kickapoo Park, Madigan State Park, or your favorite lake, and while remaining safe, spend time conversing with God and the wild beasts around you.
Research ‘forest bathing’ and Terra Divina. If weather permits, and while being safe, sit against a tree and wait for the Living God. Take a camera with you to the local park and look for the places where creation is becoming new.
Find crayons, colored pencils, markers, or items to collage with. Spend 30 to 60 minutes creating your favorite wilderness place. Maybe it’s your favorite mountain in Colorado, beach in Florida, or loch in Scotland. As you create, allow the Spirit to tend, uplift, and pray for you.
"Lent is about becoming, doing, and changing whatever it is that is blocking the fullness of life in us right now. Lent is a summons to live anew." Sister Joan Chittister
Reflection Title: Becoming Empty
Scripture: Joel 2.1, 2, 12-17 & Matthew 6.1-6, 16-21
Ash Wednesday begins the season of Lent. The forty days of Lent are often associated with penance – an act of self-abasement. While a worthy practice, Lent offers much more to our faith journey if we allow it. The Joel reading takes us back to a hard time in the life of God's people.
Locusts have ravaged the land. The crops are failing. The very life of the population is in question. The prophet Joel, convinced that the people had brought the disaster upon themselves by virtue of their unfaithfulness, summons the House of Israel to repent its ways. But he does not call them to attend penance services in the synagogue. He does not require them to make animal sacrifices in the temple. He does not talk about public displays of remorse, the time-honored tearing of garments to demonstrate grief. No, Joel says, "Rend your hearts and not your clothing."
Sister Joan Chittister writes, "Lent is a call to weep for what we could have been and are not. Lent is the grace to grieve for what we should have done and did not. Lent is the opportunity to change what we ought to change but have not. Lent is not about penance. Lent is about becoming, doing, and changing whatever is blocking the fullness of life in us right now."
Ash Wednesday reminds us of our mortality. We need not wait until our deaths to know the fullness and abundance of God. We have life now – and God is with us in this life. Lent is the time to let life in again, to rebuild the worlds we've allowed to go sterile, to "fast and weep and mourn" for the goods we've foregone. Lent is a season for becoming – to return to our belovedness by emptying ourselves of whatever stands in the way of it and by filling our life with the goodness of God.
The Question(s) for the Week
Who is God calling you to become? What is preventing you from saying 'yes' to God?
How might Lent be a season for us to consider who we need to become in a world not as it is but as God longs for it to be?
Lent is not about feeling bad about being human. Instead, it reminds us of and directs our attention to God's mercy and goodness. Write about how you experienced God's goodness, compassion, and love. Could you share it with a friend?
The Practices for the Week
Prayer helps us empty ourselves so we may embrace the Christ dwelling within us. Center prayer includes gently letting go of any thoughts that come during that time, not pushing them away but letting them go to return to God's presence. On Sundays at 3:00 p.m. in Lent, Adam will offer centering prayer at the church.
In the space below, take ashes and draw a circle. Spend time reflecting on your life. How does the concept of impermanence make you feel?
Take a drive through a cemetery. When you find a quiet spot, take in the names on the headstones. Recall these words from Genesis 3.19, "You are dust, and to dust you shall return." What would those who have gone before you in death want you to know about life? Consider the gift God has given you – YOU. Consider this reality: we all have one life with limited time. What will you do with this time?
The poet Rilke once wrote, "You are not dead yet. It is not too late to open your depths by plunging into them and drink the life that reveals itself quietly there." Write these words on a piece of paper and put it somewhere you will encounter it daily. Lent is about living!
The Prayer for the Week
God, you are near.
Focus on breathing in and pray: I breathe in the breath of life.
Focus on breathing out and pray: I breathe out what separates me from God.
Have mercy on me, O God, and shape my becoming into your image.
We are ALL dust. And, in fact, we are all stardust! When God caused the Big Bang (in my opinion), a little dot of matter (scientists say it was no bigger than the period at the end of this sentence) exploded into a beautifully complex and diverse universe. All of the original “dust” of the universe is the result of stars that have “died;” they have come to the end of their cycles, and their matter is scattered. This matter helps create something new. This star dust was then knit together by gravity (and Divine intervention) to form Earth. And this stardust makes up you and me as well.
We are dust, and to dust, we will return. And in the meantime? We live.
And as a people of faith, we commit ourselves to the way of love taught by Jesus. Lent is the season we are intentional about becoming the Beloved Community. We live and love as God in Jesus from Nazareth loved -- the Spirit enabling us to embody it.
Though dust means other things, too.
When I was going from one stage of faith to the next, the writings of Rob Bell were influential. I remember when I first saw the video I'm posting below. I remember thinking, "But who am I to co-labor with God in bringing about the reign of Love? I'm so ... mortal." After watching the video, I felt -- as if God could work with my dustiness. I separate [which is the definition of sin] myself from God way too much. Still, God calls me God's beloved and says, "You are my beloved. You belong to me -- I created you in my image and likeness."
I am made of dust, and I will return to dust. Until then, I've got a baptismal identity/vocation to embrace. I hope this video 'blesses' you as much as it did me some twenty years ago.
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust -- still at our grave, we proclaim 'ALL...'
Brigid gazes into the burnt prairie at Kickapoo Park. She would walk on some of the ashes, turning her white paws black. A reminder of her mortality, too.
Lent is an ancient word for springtime; it designates a season of burgeoning inner and outer life. Too often, Lent has been misunderstood as a time of grim repentance, but it is meant to be a time of joy, the joy of a fresh start, the joy that greening meadows and blossoming trees proclaim each spring. It is a season to remind us of God’s goodness and mercy. Just as God cares for the flowers of the field and the Bluebirds of the air, so God cares for us – you and me!
Yesterday was Ash Wednesday. I love this holy day in the church. It helps me to remember that one day, I will die. That one day, I will complete my baptism, and as the liturgy assures us, I will “gather at the life-giving river” that flows from God’s presence. From the cradle to the grave, in this life and the next, we belong to God – this is what we proclaim in our baptism liturgy – and why we remember our baptism every week. Ash Wednesday reminds us that as much as we want to identify with our career, relationships, or material goods, none of those matters. Impermanence is real, and like those flowers of the field, our stuff, and ultimately us, will wither and fade away.
But that’s not the end of that line, right? It’s from Isaiah 40 and reads in its entirety, “The grass withers; the flower fades, but the word of our God will stand forever.” These lines are part of a poem written to a people returning from exile proclaiming to them that God will deliver on Their promises. I love how Corrine Carvhalo puts it when she writes, “[The people] have sinned, but God has remained true. They have sinned, but God has stayed true.” [The Working Preacher] The story they tell, however, is that God doesn’t care if they live or die – I mean, they are in exile, after all!
And yet, the poem begins back in verse 1 about comfort – and God’s movement to comfort God’s people. Instead of punishing or placing the people on some naughty list like a divine Santa Claus, God comforts the people. The movement of God is one of care, concern, and compassion. God does not want God’s people to suffer. And though this text isn’t promising that suffering will end, it does speak to the good news that God enters our suffering with us. I like what my professor Greg Hillis says about this when he writes, “If we come to understand that God suffers alongside us as one who truly knows what it means to suffer, our anger morphs into love, and our suffering mysteriously becomes a means of transformation.” [America: The Jesuit Review]
Lent is about transformation. And the promise of God’s presence in it – the withering and the growing, the living and the dying. I thought about this when I walked Tecumseh and Brigid at Kickapoo Park. Yesterday, I believe, the rangers did the yearly control burn on the prairie part of the park. The faded flowers, dead grass, and yellows accompanying this time of year were black – like the ashes on my forehead yesterday. As the wind blew, I could see ashes form tiny twisters that rolled across the prairie. But I also saw Bluebirds that looked like those mythical winged animals rising from the ashes!
The image is dramatic, but it is appropriate for Lent. Burning the prairie helps Native Plants outgrow the invasive ones and weeds. I understand that weeds and other annual plants are set back by burning the above-ground vegetation in early spring to give room for the hardy, preferred prairie plants below. Lent is this for us as a people of faith. It is time we ‘burn’ back whatever stands in our way of becoming who God longs us to be. It is a time to remind ourselves that everything we insist on defining us will wither and fade away – but our belovedness will remain! Lent is when we empty ourselves of all the expectations and ‘shoulds’ we tell ourselves to tend to the garden of our being – fanning the flame of the Risen Christ dwelling within. It is when we plant the seeds of our becoming and then tend to them the way God tends to us – with tenderness, gentleness, and mercy.
The prairie field at Kickapoo Park is all ash. But from that death, new life will soon emerge. Red-winged Blackbirds will perch on Sunflowers, and Rabbits will burrow in the brush. Transformation is happening – even if it looks ashy and dead.
The flowers fade, and the grass withers, but the word of God remains.
We live, and we die, but God’s presence remains.
Lent always gives way to resurrection. Still, the weeds grow. Let us be courageous in emptying ourselves of all the invasive thoughts so we may hear that still, small voice that declares to us, “You are my beloved!”
Bluebird perched on a Sycamore tree at Kickapoo Park
