Today's readings: Ps 43, 149; Ez 39:21-29; Phil 4:10-20; John 17:20-26
When geese and other migratory birds travel long distances together, they do it in what is called a “V Formation.” Each bird relies on the updraft created by the bird in front of it to travel more easily and for further distances. As the lead bird – the tip of the “V” – tires, others rotate into the lead position. No one is in the front or the back for too long. Pilots flying in groups imitate this behavior not just for the increased efficiency, but also because it allows them to keep other members of the group in sight.
During our own Lenten journey - and our entire life journey – we can’t be Christians while flying solo. Any single goose can fly, but staying safe and ahead of the encroaching winter requires a group effort. Any single Christian can believe all the “right” things, but justice, love and mercy require meaningful interaction with others. Can one person address the needs of the hungry or the poor? A little maybe. But the synergy of a group food pantry can accomplish far more than the self-contained efforts of individual kitchens. And a group speaking in unison to change the injustices that create hunger in the first place has a louder impact than a cacophony of disjointed if well-intended messages. And a community of people preparing meals for a person or family in crisis provides not just food, but the invaluable assurance of a community in solidarity with the suffering.
Many such efforts may begin with the idea or drive of a single person. If we are that leader, we need to recognize when it is time to rest and let someone else lead the “V” for a while, or risk tumbling from the sky in exhaustion. If we are on the tips or in the middle of the effort, we must be prepared to step up when our time comes, knowing we will not be called to lead forever. Giving and receiving are both part of the faith experience.
When Jesus prayed to prepare his disciples for his death, he asked God that they would be made as one (John 17:22), knowing how much of their strength and grace resided in their ability to act together to bring about God’s realm. Let’s find the formation that helps us lift and be lifted.
Comfort: Dependence on community is a strength, not a weakness.
Challenge: Before Lent is over, ask someone for help.
Prayer: God of the journey, connect me to the people on my path.
Evening readings: Ps 31, 143
Discussion Question:
Do you find it more to difficult to offer help, or to ask for it? Why?
Saturday, February 25, 2012
Friday, February 24, 2012
The Lenten Journey: Choose Your Own Adventure
Today's readings: Ps 22, 148; Ez 18:1-4, 25-32; Phil 4:1-9; John 17:9-19
In the days before GPS and MapQuest, it was common for people embarking on a long car trip to visit AAA or another travel agent to get customized route maps (AAA still calls them TripTiks). An atlas could only get you so far before you needed additional city and street maps for the local details. Today we just click on “zoom.” But past or present, we need to know the end point of our journey to get directions. Our Lenten journey doesn’t work quite that way.
Our Lenten journey ends with resurrection – Easter – and we know the annual stories and readings that act as signposts throughout the season. But if our end point is a living, contemporary, present Christ, simply retracing 2000 year old steps – no matter how sacred – won’t get us there. Plenty of us are intimately familiar with Christ’s journey, yet stuck spinning our wheels. Without knowing direction resurrection may take in our own lives, how can we know in what direction to start our journey?
Ezekiel knows. The prophet advises his listeners the way forward is to repent – literally, to “turn around” their lives. A journey can begin because we have somewhere to go to – or somewhere to leave from. Even if we don’t know where we will end up, we generally know what in our lives we need to walk away from. Of course knowing is much easier than doing. Abuse, addiction, anger – if these things were easy to leave, Ezekiel could have kept his day job. It’s easier to stay in a bad or even dangerous yet familiar situation than to walk the unknown road. Rather than following a prescribed map, we find ourselves in a “Choose Your Own Adventure” scenario, where each choice leads us down an unknown path. We hope for a happy ending, but if things don’t work out, we can retrace our steps and begin again. And God will travel with us every time.
No matter how much we might like it to be so, faith is not a matter of following someone else’s maps, no matter how beautifully they’ve been drawn. God calls us to the uncharted territory of broken places – our own and others – and to the kingdom of wholeness waiting beyond.
Comfort: All steps taken in faith are in the right direction.
Challenge: Start a “travel journal” to map your Lenten adventures.
Prayer: God of the journey, thank you for trusting me to go new places.
Evening readings: Ps 105, 130
Discussion question:
Is there anywhere you both desire and fear to go?
In the days before GPS and MapQuest, it was common for people embarking on a long car trip to visit AAA or another travel agent to get customized route maps (AAA still calls them TripTiks). An atlas could only get you so far before you needed additional city and street maps for the local details. Today we just click on “zoom.” But past or present, we need to know the end point of our journey to get directions. Our Lenten journey doesn’t work quite that way.
Our Lenten journey ends with resurrection – Easter – and we know the annual stories and readings that act as signposts throughout the season. But if our end point is a living, contemporary, present Christ, simply retracing 2000 year old steps – no matter how sacred – won’t get us there. Plenty of us are intimately familiar with Christ’s journey, yet stuck spinning our wheels. Without knowing direction resurrection may take in our own lives, how can we know in what direction to start our journey?
Ezekiel knows. The prophet advises his listeners the way forward is to repent – literally, to “turn around” their lives. A journey can begin because we have somewhere to go to – or somewhere to leave from. Even if we don’t know where we will end up, we generally know what in our lives we need to walk away from. Of course knowing is much easier than doing. Abuse, addiction, anger – if these things were easy to leave, Ezekiel could have kept his day job. It’s easier to stay in a bad or even dangerous yet familiar situation than to walk the unknown road. Rather than following a prescribed map, we find ourselves in a “Choose Your Own Adventure” scenario, where each choice leads us down an unknown path. We hope for a happy ending, but if things don’t work out, we can retrace our steps and begin again. And God will travel with us every time.
No matter how much we might like it to be so, faith is not a matter of following someone else’s maps, no matter how beautifully they’ve been drawn. God calls us to the uncharted territory of broken places – our own and others – and to the kingdom of wholeness waiting beyond.
Comfort: All steps taken in faith are in the right direction.
Challenge: Start a “travel journal” to map your Lenten adventures.
Prayer: God of the journey, thank you for trusting me to go new places.
Evening readings: Ps 105, 130
Discussion question:
Is there anywhere you both desire and fear to go?
Thursday, February 23, 2012
The Lenten Journey: Citizenship in Heaven
Today's readings: Ps 27; 147:12-20, Hab 3:1-18, Phil 3:12-21; John 17:1-8
Have you ever heard someone described as a “citizen of the world?” Such people are usually considered well-traveled, sophisticated and fluent in diverse cultures. We perceive them as feeling at home in almost any setting. Though we may sense in them a bit of restlessness, we generally admire their ease and poise.
In Paul’s letter to the Phillipians, he claims their citizenship is in heaven. What does it mean to be a citizen of a place you can’t physically visit? First, we must recognize that in Paul’s Roman Empire, where slaves outnumbered citizens, the term “citizen” carried significant meaning. When Paul told people – regardless of legal class – they were citizens of heaven, he was telling them they had full rights and protections bestowed by God. Today’s strife over illegal immigration gives us only a small taste of the feelings that must have arisen - in citizens and non-citizens alike – when Paul announced all people were on equal footing under God.
As we progress in our Lenten journey, what will be the implications of our citizenship? Certainly it adds perspective to any form of nationalism; the borders of heaven are limitless, after all. How will we conduct ourselves in non-native lands, among people of different or no belief? How can we avoid becoming the Christian equivalent of the “ugly American” who treats other cultures with disregard? In many physical countries, we might rely on an ambassador or embassy to coach us in diplomacy and respect. Fortunately, we have Christ as our ambassador. His example of moving among all peoples with a strength born of peace and love is our example.
One last component of citizenship is responsibility. While citizens of the world have a responsibility to comply with local laws and customs, citizens of heaven are responsible to act justly, love mercy and walk humbly (Micah 6:8), even when doing so conflicts with expectations. Simultaneously loving and confounding is quite the balancing act. We can expect that not everyone will admire or even like us. We may even be outright rejected. But our true home and Lord will never abandon us.
Comfort: No one can revoke the citizenship God grants us.
Challenge: Try composing a Christian “Bill of Rights.”
Prayer: God of the journey, thank you for my rights and responsibilities.
Evening readings: Ps 126, 102
Discussion question:
Has there ever been a conflict between your national and heavenly citizenships?
Have you ever heard someone described as a “citizen of the world?” Such people are usually considered well-traveled, sophisticated and fluent in diverse cultures. We perceive them as feeling at home in almost any setting. Though we may sense in them a bit of restlessness, we generally admire their ease and poise.
In Paul’s letter to the Phillipians, he claims their citizenship is in heaven. What does it mean to be a citizen of a place you can’t physically visit? First, we must recognize that in Paul’s Roman Empire, where slaves outnumbered citizens, the term “citizen” carried significant meaning. When Paul told people – regardless of legal class – they were citizens of heaven, he was telling them they had full rights and protections bestowed by God. Today’s strife over illegal immigration gives us only a small taste of the feelings that must have arisen - in citizens and non-citizens alike – when Paul announced all people were on equal footing under God.
As we progress in our Lenten journey, what will be the implications of our citizenship? Certainly it adds perspective to any form of nationalism; the borders of heaven are limitless, after all. How will we conduct ourselves in non-native lands, among people of different or no belief? How can we avoid becoming the Christian equivalent of the “ugly American” who treats other cultures with disregard? In many physical countries, we might rely on an ambassador or embassy to coach us in diplomacy and respect. Fortunately, we have Christ as our ambassador. His example of moving among all peoples with a strength born of peace and love is our example.
One last component of citizenship is responsibility. While citizens of the world have a responsibility to comply with local laws and customs, citizens of heaven are responsible to act justly, love mercy and walk humbly (Micah 6:8), even when doing so conflicts with expectations. Simultaneously loving and confounding is quite the balancing act. We can expect that not everyone will admire or even like us. We may even be outright rejected. But our true home and Lord will never abandon us.
Comfort: No one can revoke the citizenship God grants us.
Challenge: Try composing a Christian “Bill of Rights.”
Prayer: God of the journey, thank you for my rights and responsibilities.
Evening readings: Ps 126, 102
Discussion question:
Has there ever been a conflict between your national and heavenly citizenships?
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Ash Wednesday: Preparing for the Lenten Journey
Today's readings: Ps 5, 147:1-11; Amos 5:6-15; Heb. 12:1-14; Luke 18:9–14
Today is the day Christians all over the world begin the annual Lenten pilgrimage. Most of us won’t travel physically but spiritually, and we hope in a direction moving us closer to God in Christ. Our modes of transportation vary: prayer, fasting, giving something up, taking something extra on – the possibilities are limitless. And like physical pilgrims, we may find we need to carefully select which belongings will travel well to a destination we may not know much about.
Today’s parable from Luke illustrates one of the things we might be better leaving behind: ego. When we read about the Pharisee who thanks God he is not the tax collector praying nearby, we aren’t surprised Jesus says the tax collector (who is humbling praying for mercy) is more justified before God. Most of us – even religious leaders – identify more with the character of the tax collector than the Pharisee. But should we? Is it truth or ego that tells us we are righteous?
The moment we thank God we are not the Pharisee, we may be guilty of his sin: pride and judgment. In Jesus’ time, the message of beloved sinners was revolutionary. People needed to hear it. Twenty centuries on, as a faith community comfortable with Jesus’ MO, we need to be careful we don’t wear the tax collector’s humility as the latest fashion of outward righteousness. Letting go of the idea that we are righteous (or sinful!) can be scary, because it erodes our comfortable, self-defined identity.
As we prepare for our Lenten journey, let’s unpack the thick cloak of ego to make room for uncertainty. And let’s not make the mistake of defining uncertainty as the lack of something; rather, let’s recognize it as necessary space for the new things God wants us to carry. If we cling too tightly to who we are, we are closed to who God would have us be.
Sometimes we are the Pharisee. Sometimes we are the tax collector. Most often we are a mix of both. God will help us find the balance.
Comfort: Letting go is sometimes the only way to hold something new.
Challenge: Meditate on today’s passage from Luke.
Prayer: God of the journey, help me know what to keep, and what to leave behind.
Evening readings: Ps 27, 51
Discussion question:
When have you had cause to question your assumptions about your identity?
Today is the day Christians all over the world begin the annual Lenten pilgrimage. Most of us won’t travel physically but spiritually, and we hope in a direction moving us closer to God in Christ. Our modes of transportation vary: prayer, fasting, giving something up, taking something extra on – the possibilities are limitless. And like physical pilgrims, we may find we need to carefully select which belongings will travel well to a destination we may not know much about.
Today’s parable from Luke illustrates one of the things we might be better leaving behind: ego. When we read about the Pharisee who thanks God he is not the tax collector praying nearby, we aren’t surprised Jesus says the tax collector (who is humbling praying for mercy) is more justified before God. Most of us – even religious leaders – identify more with the character of the tax collector than the Pharisee. But should we? Is it truth or ego that tells us we are righteous?
The moment we thank God we are not the Pharisee, we may be guilty of his sin: pride and judgment. In Jesus’ time, the message of beloved sinners was revolutionary. People needed to hear it. Twenty centuries on, as a faith community comfortable with Jesus’ MO, we need to be careful we don’t wear the tax collector’s humility as the latest fashion of outward righteousness. Letting go of the idea that we are righteous (or sinful!) can be scary, because it erodes our comfortable, self-defined identity.
As we prepare for our Lenten journey, let’s unpack the thick cloak of ego to make room for uncertainty. And let’s not make the mistake of defining uncertainty as the lack of something; rather, let’s recognize it as necessary space for the new things God wants us to carry. If we cling too tightly to who we are, we are closed to who God would have us be.
Sometimes we are the Pharisee. Sometimes we are the tax collector. Most often we are a mix of both. God will help us find the balance.
Comfort: Letting go is sometimes the only way to hold something new.
Challenge: Meditate on today’s passage from Luke.
Prayer: God of the journey, help me know what to keep, and what to leave behind.
Evening readings: Ps 27, 51
Discussion question:
When have you had cause to question your assumptions about your identity?
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