Our Meal

This morning, I shared a meal with a 97-year-old woman who should have died in surgery and a single mother struggling to keep the lights on and an older man immersed in a slog of depression. We came hungry, broken, and tired, intensely aware of our deep need.

We feasted on the holy love generated by our shared lives, shared pain, and shared redemption. We wept and laughed and prayed together, delighting in brothers and sisters who gladly bear our burdens, share our joys and sorrows, and give selflessly, generously, of themselves.

We also feasted on physical food: Bits of bread torn from the loaf, just as our outlawed Lord's body was torn by His tormentors; sips of blood-red juice poured from the cup, just as His blood dripped onto the dry dust beneath His cross.

It's a desperate sort of remembrance, I suppose. After all, what sort of fool places his hope in the strength of a condemned, tortured man slowly suffocating beneath a darkened sky two millennia ago?

The answer is desperate fools like me. We see the weakness of our own strength. We see the futility of our self-made righteousness. And we are captured by the glorious hope in this story that sometimes seems too good to be true. 

More than that, we see its fruit in our lives. If this be a vain pretense, then it is at least one that has swept away vast swaths of darkness and death in my life and the lives of my sisters and brothers. It has utterly changed me and continues to do so.

So I partook of the blessed feast again this morning, looking back with thankfulness at how it removed me from the realm of darkness and death and looking forward with hope to the redemption of my flesh and this lovely broken world. Even so, come quickly, Lord Jesus.

Adventures in Hagiography

Hagiographers build the saint's life
Even as they kill the man behind it
Deader than a sinless doornail.

They lose his doubt and fear and foibles,
His bad temper and worse choices,
His lonely nights of dark despair.

They know their audience, to be sure:
Masses eager for a blameless hero,
But one less offensive than Jesus Himself.

In the baby lisping Ave Maria and Pater Noster,
We see Christ as we would like Him to be,
Rather than the bruised, bloody bondslave He was.

Beauty Within the Mess

This morning, I was in a hurry to get to work. As I opened the car door to put my laptop case inside, I noticed that my lawn was looking a little shaggy. Or, to be precise, a lot shaggy:

I will be the first to admit that I am a terrible groundskeeper. My grass is always the longest on the block, and every August, it's one of the first to die from the overwhelming heat. (Just between you and me, I would kill it off earlier than that if I could.)

It's not that I wouldn't like to have a nice-looking lawn; it's just that I normally have better things to spend my time and money on. Nonetheless, that doesn't stop me from feeling just a wee bit ashamed when my yard looks like this. I mean, who likes having a constant reminder of his failings every time he steps outside his door? Not this guy.

So, with my daily dose of yard-guilt successfully internalized, I was ready to rush off to work, hopefully not arriving too late for my first meeting.

Then, as I was putting my laptop case and lunch bag into the car, I saw something that stopped me cold. I have probably looked at my front yard a dozen times in the past week, but I never noticed this: 

 Or this:

 Or this:

Lovely, no? They have been buried within that messy yard for a long time, but I never had the eyes to see them until this morning. What's more, I wouldn't have even gotten to see them if I weren't such a negligent homeowner.

Suddenly, I didn't care how late I was going to be. It seemed much more important to take a little bit of time to intentionally enjoy these blessings that my gracious Maker left in the most unexpected of places.

The New Testament book of James says, "Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows."

My experience this morning made me realize that I am perhaps too hasty in deciding what those good and perfect gifts are -- or aren't.

I'm glad the Giver has a better imagination -- and a farther-reaching vision -- than I do.

Love, Weakness, and Repentance

Note From the Blogger: I found this in my Drafts folder. I started it in April 2009, and just got around to finishing it today. Sorry and you're welcome.

I've always been uneasy about observing church festivals. This is probably because I am not from a very conservative liturgical tradition.  In the churches of my youth, we were "Bible-believing Evangelicals" who followed the doctrine of sola scriptura to the point of iconoclasm (and sometimes anticlericism).

To my ilk, Ash Wednesday had a dangerously Roman feel. We had read Jack Chick's tracts; we knew Catholicism was a slippery slope. One day you're smearing ashes on your forehead, and the next you're sprinkling water on babies and buying  papal indulgences. Who knows how far you'll go once you take that first step toward idolatry?

So I suppose it's strange that I have been practicing intentional self-deprivation since Ash Wednesday. And that I intend to do so until Easter Sunday. Almost sounds like... Lent.

How did I get here from there? What changed my iconoclastic mind about the spiritual value of ancient liturgical traditions? I attribute it to two main elements.

Firstly, as a history major in college, I became enchanted with monks. I loved the idea of a life devoted to purity, piety, and praise. At one point, I briefly considered trying to live my life by the Rule of St. Benedict. While I didn't take the leap, I am still fascinated with the idea that pious practices can help to mold my mind, heart, and life to be more like Christ.

Secondly, in recent years, I have come to believe that it would be a grave error to ignore two millennia of church tradition. I don't believe that tradition has the same weight as scripture. However, that doesn't mean tradition is worthless. To observe the seasons of the liturgical calendar is to join with billions of other saints, both present and departed, in their faith walk.

In my mind, Lent is one of the most beautiful and valuable observances in the church year. Traditionally, Roman Catholics give up meat during Lent.¹ However, common practice today (especially for vegetarians or those who don't eat much meat anyway) is to simply give up something that matters to you. (In case you want to read more, here is an excellent post about Lent, written by a friend of mine who is an Episcopalian priest.)

So, what do I hope to gain from this commitment to self-denial? Here are a couple of lists I made to clarify for myself why I was (and wasn't!) observing Lent:

Observing Lent Will Not:

• Increase God's love for me. Since before the foundation of the world, He has loved me with an immeasurable love. The person of Jesus Christ is the inarguable earnest of that love.²
• Enhance my worthiness. By myself, I am an unholy, rebellious, sinful person who deserves no more chances. Out of His great love, God chose to call me from death into life. He didn't do this because of anything I have done or could do; He did it because He was pleased to do it.³
• Make me more righteous. My righteousness comes from Jesus Christ's substitutionary atonement for my sins on the cross.⁴

I Pray That Observing Lent Will:

• Increase my love for God. As I focus on Him and what He has done for me, may my gratitude and love overflow in response. 
• Remind me of my weakness. When I fail to keep my commitment, either in letter or in spirit (as I have many times during this season), I am reminded of my frailty and need for a savior. With the crowds in Jerusalem, I cry out to Jesus, "Hosanna - Save me now!" How desperately I need His power to pull me out the terrible pit, out of the miry clay, and set my feet upon a rock. 
• Make me more repentant. I am surrounded by sin. So often, my concept of Christianity is to avoid sin, rather than actively turning away from it and going the other direction. I have not been called from darkness into nothing; I have been called into the glorious light of God's son. I pray that this Lenten season will help me to wholeheartedly reject my sin and fiercely pursue an active, positive righteousness.

So what about you, dear reader? Are you Lenten, or Un-Lenten? Any thoughts to add to mine? I'd love to hear about liturgy's role in your faith walk.


Notes:

¹Why meat? And why is fish OK? If you're going to make people give up things they don't want to give up, why not make them give up alcohol, for instance? I'm glad you asked. As he so often does, St. Thomas Aquinas has an appropriately hilarious answer for you:

[F]asting was instituted by the Church in order to bridle the concupiscences of the flesh, which regard pleasures of touch in connection with food and sex. Wherefore the Church forbade those who fast to partake of those foods which both afford most pleasure to the palate, and besides are a very great incentive to lust. Such are the flesh of animals that take their rest on the earth, and of those that breathe the air and their products, such as milk from those that walk on the earth, and eggs from birds. For, since such like animals are more like man in body, they afford greater pleasure as food, and greater nourishment to the human body, so that from their consumption there results a greater surplus available for seminal matter, which when abundant becomes a great incentive to lust. Hence the Church has bidden those who fast to abstain especially from these foods ...

Three things concur in the act of procreation, namely, heat, vitalspirit, and humor. Wine and other things that heat the body conduce especially to heat: flatulent foods seemingly cooperate in the production of the vitalspirit: but it is chiefly the use of flesh meat which is most productive of nourishment, that conduces to the production of humor. Now the alteration occasioned by heat, and the increase in vitalspirits are of short duration, whereas the substance of the humor remains a long time. Hence those who fast are forbidden the use of flesh meat rather than of wine or vegetables which are flatulent foods.

² See Rom. 5:6-8.

³ See Rom. 3:10-12.

⁴ See II Cor. 5:21.