Bare Branches: 40 Days of Lent

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LENT DAY 1: BARE BRANCHES
Lent begins like a bare branch. Its soul is bruised and quite brittle. It is ripe to snap in a sharp winter wind. It shivers and is lonely. It holds no warmth, and quietly moans or sighs in words without meaning or hope. It crackles and yearns at night, when the cold is painful. It has difficulty finding rest, and peace is out of the question.

Lent begins like a bare branch, and against the very occasional cobalt blue skies of the first months of the year, it can appear as black lace again the sky, as if the horizon wears it like a mantilla, draping its sorrow in a sad display of loveliness and loss.

Lent begins like a bare branch. It is full of the longing for spring but must endure with patience and perseverance the lengthy pilgrimage of some forty days. It is not a fast in the truest sense, as there is still beauty to behold, and the earth, caught in moments of breathtaking sunlight, may still erupt in miraculous wonder.

But…overall, it is a lonely walk; mostly alone; seldom with even a blanket or bed. These nights are long and quiet, but the soul seems to dance in mourning until the morn. One does not wake refreshed, but more tired than when sleep began – or did it begin at all?

Lent begins like a bare branch. Even when etched in wet snow, as if a forgotten Christmas card, it will contain, at its core, loneliness, anonymity, and a pervasive sense of absence.  Lent is a spiritual season carved out of the muck and mire of Life, and it requires the digging through many a deep drift of despair and memories both painful and bold.

Lent begins like a bare branch, quivering in the frigid night air, and awaiting even a hint of sun. Still, it waits for dawn with firm resolution, determined to greet the day with loyalty, and to address a God somewhere with a modicum of civility. In the beginning, it is all polite and pious, knowing full well it will be a journey of few joys.

Still, there is an affectionate nod at the beginning of Lent, the recognition that the trek will be of significant value, and as always, maturing, which is key and the purpose, and will allow us to step forward into many dark nights and grey dismal days with only the vision of lime lace to guide and inspire us.

O, Lord of Lent, hold this empty bare branch close, with a tender hand, and the touch of Grace. Gently push us forward to begin our downward ascent, as we travel deep within to meet with You once again. No, not face to face, but close enough to smell your scent and hear your words. Amen.


LENT DAY 2: FRENZY
The sky dropped to its knees and sighed, and it was obvious it would soon weep white. There was a sudden hush, a tantrum of flailing wind, and then the snow exploded like confetti. The sky was frenzied, and one could no longer make out anything but the shapes on the horizon.

It is awesome when a blizzard begins. There is a moment of recognition and resignation, and an acknowledgment of enforced ceasing and silence and blessed rest. I prepared hot coffee with cream and moved my chair to the behold position.

After an hour of watching the furious snow, I was reminded of when I was a kid, and our twelve-inch black and white Zenith would lose its horizontal hold, and I was forced to watch a program flipping before me. I could barely make out a favorite character or two, and the plot was as elusive as trying to squeeze your fist around mercury.

Though I was doing absolutely nothing but sipping coffee and looking, I began to tire, and my eyes winced, and my soul yawned. I fell blissfully asleep, as if my heart of hearts could no longer focus on the frenzy. I recognized the sighs of my soul and thought how tired I was on the inside.

By noon the flakes had slowed to a trot, then a slow saunter, a twirl or whirl, and finally a swan dive to the waiting white. As the snow accumulated, climbing up almost two feet on my picture window, I smiled and knew the scene would soon declare itself a most magical mystery.

As soon as I could, I would go for a drive, and take photos of the spectacle of winter. The next day, I would anxiously open my photo packages, and be proud of a few, but for the most part, feel sad that not even one truly captured the raw delight.

Our souls arrive at Lent, like a blizzard. We are full of frenzy and fear and the craziness of trying to do it all. We have once again set ourselves up to burn out. When in a daily hurry, the soul’s flame will soon be snuffed.

O, Lord of Lent, let us quietly savor the stillness of viewing a blizzard, secretly knowing that soon, a winter wonderland will reveal itself. A lump will form in the back of our throat, and it will be filled with awe. Amen.


LENT DAY 3: LISTENING TO THE SNOW
Two weeks to the day, after the 11-inch blizzard, we got four inches of pure delightful Carvel snow. It was clean and bright and the small drift lines were crisp and whipped into peaks, like a good meringue. I am sorry, but I feel for it again. I excused myself to watch the snow fall. Then I listened up, knowing full well that snow, when it is gentle and draping in nature, like an afghan, has stories to tell.

Snow, like the biblical stones, speaks in whispered tones, and tells us again of those we have loved and lost, and how deeply we still long to have just one more day; they recite favorite memories like nursery rhymes, and count blessings with an easy and volume; and they remind of what truly does matter, and what is no consequence at all, and this sermon still inspires, as it tells us to keep our soul nourished and pour spirit focused.

The snow for me is like a good teacher. They are competent and they care, and they know the vital importance of repetition. They also give you an “A” to start, and for the most part, you keep that gracious grade simply by showing up for the day itself. The lessons that each day teaches are about a dozen, and they vary for each person. Mine include the following.

This too shall pass. Yes, not everybody likes you, nor will they. Don’t dwell on that which does not matter, like 99% of what you worry about. Don’t lie. Don’t lose your sense of humor. Make needed changes. Learn from the past. Keep your faith strong and fresh and well exercised. Be positive and productive. Be relaxed. Be Sabbath for others. Be on your knees long enough to know you are not God.

The next time it snows, listen up. You will hear your soul hold a conversation with the Word of God. You will hear the pulse of God. You will hear the words – YOU ARE BELOVED ; YOU ARE ENOUGH ; YOU ARE MY CHILD.

You will never need a hearing aid, although stopping and sitting still and looking are all helpful. Just listen with your heart. The heart has such good ears, especially when freed from the craziness of worry and fear and anxiety, and almost all gossip or critique or judgment.

O, Lord of Lent, let me listen and let me hear, the snow as it is falling. As the snow falls, our souls rise. The skies open and the Word drops down, and we catch it on our tongues, and we drink of its Grace. Our spirits are quenched.
Amen.


LENT DAY 4: THE SNOW FORT
After the big snow, my childhood buddies joined me to build a massive igloo in my backyard. We had been studying the Eskimos in Miss Foley’s fourth grade class, and it looked pretty easy.

We started by using four synchronized shovels to shape bricks, and then built a good-sized circle as our base. We next placed another layer of snow bricks on top, only a few inches further in each time. After three hours of shoveling and shaping, we had what looked like, well… I can’t recall anything it truly looked like, except it was incomplete. Numerous efforts to figure out how to close the gap and form the dome, met with collapse.

We stood there looking at it. A quartet of defeated would-be Eskimos, who had failed to provide the afternoon with a place to eat candy, drink hot chocolate, tell dirty jokes, and swap tall tales. We were young and impatient and so, on the count of three, we destroyed the whole thing, and went inside to get warm and watch TV. My Mom made hot chocolate and  buttered popcorn, but there were no naughty jokes or whopping lies shared with conviction.

We told Miss Foley about or efforts on Monday at school, and she showed us a book with pretty clear directions on how to build an igloo. It was much harder than we thought, and there were all kinds of requirements, like being about twenty degrees below zero and working with blocks of ice, melting them slightly with fire, and then allowing them to refreeze.

Not only that, Miss Foley said, they had watched their elders do it for years. Eskimos knew all the tricks and possessed the wisdom of their culture and centuries old traditions.

To me, Lent is a lot like our attempt to create an igloo. We get started with good intentions, but soon it fades because we don’t have a clue how to take it to the finish. Like four fourth grade boys, most of us still need some help on how to create a meaningful Lent. We need some guidance, the wisdom of the ages, and pointers on what just might bring us to a perfect domed conclusion.

Maybe what is most vital about Lent is the simple reminder that we all need help and guidance – more frequently than we admit.

O, Lord of Lent, free us to ask for help. Guide us back to the goodness of service and sacrifice, prayer and devotions, and to the cleansing naming and claiming of our flaws and failings and flops. Come and cauterize our souls, boil away the grime of our selfishness and greed. Amen.


LENT DAY 5: PEARL GREY
Grey can be quite soft. It can carry a smidgen of sunset or sunrise, and the luster of pink or lilac. Grey can be quite calming and ooze a sense of contentment. Grey can invite in cozy and rest and lying fallow. Grey can be the color of a placid sea, or a sky stretched like a blank canvas.

Grey can be a time of quietude, when one is prone to remember, reflect, or reminisce. Grey is the exquisite cue to the arrival of aging. Grey does not yield joy. Grey does not make a case for longing or yearning.

Grey is pretty much an everyday color…found everywhere…seen by everyone. Grey is extraordinarily ordinary. Grey is modest, even humble. Grey is the background of most paintings and stories and faces.

The pearls of wisdom offered by the color “pearl grey” are much like those lifted up by Lent. They are neither startling nor shocking. They are simply worthy of remembering and honoring. They are the basics to a strong faith. They are the precious stones upon which a Life of following is built.

Lent is a season of grey. The soul is soaked in a steady dose of a color which is the spiritual equivalent of a relaxed yawn. During Lent we loosen up and lighten up, for ahead of us is a steep climb downward. We will soon be visiting the raw earth of our being. We will walk upon the ground of Grace. The Light of Grace is also grey. I suspect maybe even a lovely pearl grey.

O, Lord of Lent, let us not have the grey skies clear up just yet. Nor put on a happy face. May we spend this Lenten season on the up and up, lifting up only the truth of who we are and who You wish us to become. Amen


LENT DAY 6: CHARCOAL GREY
I think of Lent as ainted in charcoal grey. It is a dark spiritual season, with only a hint of light – akin to an eclipse.

When we walk into a darkened movie theater, we must adjust to the absence of light, except for those tiny lights on the floor or the red light of the exit signs. Lent requires just such an adjustment, as we reflect upon some very gloomy realities, not the least of which is Death itself.

Lent is a journey down into the heart of great guilt and grief. It is paying a visit to despair and sorrow. It is passionate walk through the gloaming. Lent is not necessarily depressing, but it can be sobering. IT wakes us up, makes us take notice, and forces us to finally pay attention. It demands the recognition that every day we are living we are also dying.

Lent teaches the organic chemistry of spirituality, that Life does NOT follow some exact or reasonable course. Though we try to believe everything happens for a reason, Lent offers ample testimony this is not the case. Though the Church has long tried to explain the need for a brutal crucifixion, or the absurd trauma of making a mother watch, there are no words of clarity to explain away why such goodness met such evil.

Think of it like trying to comfort the parent who has lost a child -- again, there are simply no words, not even one. In fact, only a silent presence might offer a morsel of understanding; a tear or sigh may also indicate genuine empathy but remain void of any answers.

Lent, like charcoal grey, is almost black. It is indeed the color of a darkened sun with only a halo of light. This halo, however, is enough light by which to see – and miraculously, to believe.

O, Lord of Lent, make the darkness visible. Enable us to find our way through the deep, dark pain of loss and loneliness. Let a glimmer of hope shine. Be our light so that we may still find rest. Keep us believing in the coming goodness of the dawn. Amen.


LENT DAY 7: PAYNE’S GREY
Payne’s grey is a deep and rich and vibrant color. It is the color of many skies in November and March.  It is a color which heralds the arrival of a storm, or the presence of loud tenacious winds. It is a color which we cannot ignore.
It demands to be noticed. It calls us to attention. It speaks the name of change; often a violent change, a trauma filled transition.

Payne’s grey is a major player on the palette of Lent. During Lent we rid ourselves of the need to play pretend, or to be phony, or to make hope into something high and apple pie-ish. Lent is the season of a soul seeking a mature and a most mysterious hope.

This short span of days is spent puzzling as to why we waste so much time on matters of such little importance. Lent is when we stop the small talk, and talk the big talk of meaning, even if only to ourselves and our God. Every one of us goes through literally hundreds and maybe thousands of storms in a lifetime. The soul is also battered and bruised by many violent moments of turmoil and trauma.  Frightening thunder peals and jarring lightning strikes, winds which can rip trees and hearts out at their roots, and rain or hail or sleet or snow which can come with such fury, our vision blurs to blindness, and we become disoriented or hopelessly lost.

Like an August thunderstorm which wipes away a smug sky of high heat and humidity, Lent will in the end provide respite and relief. Still, it can be a scary time. It can be a time when we wish to hide in the basement under a table, and not risk an unplanned trip to Oz, where the Wizard is a good man, but a truly lousy wizard.

Payne’s grey; lots of indigo; a dab of deep purple; a pinch of black. Mix hurriedly. Then gaze at the color, and you will feel Lent calling you inside – not out of the storm, but into it.

O, Lord of Lent, free us to behold the storm. Let us tremble before its power and pay homage to its charge to change. Let these storms move us…move us up…up to higher ground. Let us heed the storm’s call to drop everything and go! Amen.


LENT DAY 8: GUN METAL GREY
There is just nothing pretty about the color gun metal grey. It reflects no light. It offers up no mood or atmosphere, except maybe the thought of war. It is void of charm, and without zest. It is just plain flat and thick and as close to ugly as a color can get – not the first choice for any bedroom I have seen.

Lent is also not pretty. There are no carols or candles or wreathes or lights. The bonnets and bunnies and trumpeting lilies still seem in the distance. No, Lent is stark and bare and to some degree, brittle, riddled with shards of sharp metal.

Lent is not inviting, and it is not a particular good host. It is just not all that welcoming or warm. Lent is like a nasty arrogant host who makes you feel like he or she cannot wait for you to leave. Lent creates a natural anxiety, a sense of fear without an object. An awareness that something is missing, something is off, way off.

Maybe it is just that Lent is not meant to be homey. It is not a time to feel cozy or content or bask in belonging. Just the opposite--Lent is a time when we are pulled from the ground of Grace and made to fly solo for a spell. The sky is boiled and blank, and it is hard to tell down from up. It is dizzying.

We are forced to take stock and be rigorously examined. We get our grades for service and sacrifice, and few of us have come close to passing. Many of us were given a big fat zero. On the whole Lent is a bottoming, as least at first, and the rising is sluggish and feels uncertain. Easter remains the hope, but we wonder if anything will change. We ask ourselves if we believe in a resurrection.

At times, Lent is no more than cleaning the clutter, and rearranging the attic of our memory. Much of the time Lent is spent in a prevailing sadness, a longing for something different to happen, and for happiness to return like an unexpected guest – just show up.

The color of a battleship or a barrel full of acid, battleship grey is a tint which speaks the hard truth that Life is often just plain boring and difficult. Lent is when we face that spiritual fact. It is never easy.

O, Lord of Lent, give is the strength to accept, even embrace, the staleness which will frequent our lives, and the stagnation which will haunt our souls. Offer us a ray of hope. Amen.


LENT DAY 9: A RUINED WATERCOLOR
The beauty of a watercolor painting is its transparency, allowing the light to penetrate the colors, and shed hues that shimmer. Watercolors are composed of a series of washes, layered much like a collage, and the trick is to allow the water to move us and speak its sacred language.

Anyone who has ever painted with watercolor knows it can be tricky. The water may not flow but become a startling tsunami. One wash may mix with another and produce an unexpected color or undesirable color. Unlike oils, one cannot mask a mistake with more paint. In fact, if one tries to hide a mistake in watercolors, it will quickly become muddied, and the painting  ruined.

Watercolors require trusting the water, and when a muddied disaster appears, it means the artist has overworked the paint – dwelt too long on trying to make the color or shape happen. The mud gets thick, reveals no light, and looks like a nasty blemish on a face getting ready for Prom.

Lent will not allow us to dwell too long on our guilt or griefs, nor beat ourselves up over our mistakes and errors in judgment. Lent asks only to name them, and claim them, and feel them, deeply, but then move on. The moving on is like the ripping up a watercolor. It is hard to admit our efforts did not work, nor produce the desired result, and that we cannot retrieve the time or effort spent.

Lent is when we admit something is over, finished, gone. Still, the ripping up or the saying of our goodbyes will hurt, and this hurt can last for quite some time. The ruined painting, like a day or dream or relationship, will now reside in the realm of “WHAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN”; remembering the loss still cause a twinge of pain.

O, Lord of Lent, help us not overwork our sadness, or make beauty out of something which has revealed its ugliness. Remind us we cannot and must not dwell. When we are in a hole, we need to know when to stop digging. At the bottom, there is always just more mud. Amen.


LENT DAY 10: A STICK IN THE MUD
Lent can be depressing. This is not necessarily a bad thing. Depressing means being quite sad, or sorrowful, or feeling blue or down or brokenhearted. Like it or not, these are also staples of being a human being.

Depression is not a bad thing. It is not evil. It is not worthy of shame or embarrassment. Depression is often what forces us to go deeper and become fuller, or at least more empathetic.

Only when depression turns to despair, and threatens to suffocate our very soul, should we fear depression. Depression can BECOME an illness, or be spawned by one, but left to its own devises, as a mainstay of being alive, it often has much wisdom to teach.

I have been prone to depression my entire adult life and was exhausted by it during much of my adolescence. I have a healthy respect for depression. It's like swimming in the ocean - We must be vigilant of a rip current, the incredible power of a rogue wave, and yes, even a shark. These deep waters are worthy of a healthy respect.

During Lent we may count our curses as well as our blessings and recognize how a single cloud can block the whole sun from shining. We may become vividly aware that our pulse is never meant to be flat – this is called DEAD. The pulse must go up and down. It is only dangerous when the ups or downs become wildly extreme or erratic.

To be stuck in the mud of depression, however, can at times also be a choice. We have become too negative, or too cynical, or our spirit is burned out or up to a crisp. We don’t enjoy much, and we look forward to nothing. This is when we must beware and pay close attention to the dark billowing clouds which threaten to snuff out the light.
Still, taking time to be sad or mourn or have a good cry can be smart. There are days we simply must feel the pain or the loss or the loneliness. It is called maturing – growing pains, or the labor of giving birth to our own courage and creativity. There will always be those times  when we will furiously spin our wheels and go nowhere.

May we be smart enough to ask You for a push, or if the circumstances warrant it, wise enough to know when we require being towed.

O, Lord of Lent, free us to pray for the Spirit to give us a real good shove when we need to get unstuck. Help us get back on track, moving forward, and walking the walk. Amen.


LENT DAY 11: MAKING MUDPIES
I recall a week when I was ten, when it rained hard for eight straight days. I hated wearing my yellow raincoat and hat and found galoshes to kill the skip of childhood. The only thing I enjoyed during those eight days was building stuff with my Lincoln Logs, and sailing little boats from the Rice Krispies box down a raging gutter to the sewer.

Overall, the rain got old pretty quick, and the mud was everywhere. My mother was not a neatness nut, but she did keep a sparkling clean linoleum kitchen floor. More than once those eight sloppy wet days, she screamed at me for tracking in mud, and forgetting to remove my stupid frumpy galoshes. On day eight, Richie Sandvig thought it would be cool to make mud pies, and then have a “war” like we did with snowballs. It sounded electric to the rest of us. Richie has such a great mind for great fun and getting us into great trouble.

The battle lines were drawn. It would be the Yout and Charles Street boys versus Goold and Carter – our entire block. Before the first mud pie went airborne, we were already mud from head to toe. We had a blast and were pleased to discover that mud pies did not hurt nearly as much as a spit hardened snowball.

Then it dawned on us. We had to go home for dinner. Not one of us could even see a speck of our clothing. My mother looked at me, and to my surprise, after making me strip down to my muddy undies, broke out in laughter. She went and got my Dad’s new Polaroid and took several shots.

I took four baths that day. The first three were just sitting in water as brown as Racine’s Root River. Eventually I got clean, but Mom was no longer laughing when she had to haul my filthy clothes down the basement steps. She complained for weeks on how I had basically ruined half of her towels.

Sometimes, think of Lent this way. Consider it a time spent knowing you are going to get covered in dirt and grime, and probably even stink to high heaven. Have a good laugh at your own expense. Remember you probably needed new towels anyway.

O, Lord of Lent, remind us that to die laughing at our own foolishness. To die laughing is not to die, but to resurrect our desire to be fully alive once again, even if we just might need a half dozen baptismal baths. Amen.


LENT DAY 12: DIRTY DOVE WINGS
Lent is a dirty spiritual season. It is truly for adults only. It's not neat or pure or virginal. Lent is a mess. It's a cluttered mind and a scorched soul. It's sweat stained and stinky. It has worked hard, probably too hard. It has labored at listening to losses. It is bewildered. Lent is often a walk taken while lost, and prone to wandering in circles. Lent is a desert, a wilderness, a whirlwind of utter mystery.

Too many spiritual folks think of being spiritual as the equivalent of being dipped in a bucket of white paint. In Life, there is little that is raw white. Skin is never bright white. The sky and sea may contain a cloud, or a wave dipped in white, but on the whole, those are no more than a speck or a smudge. At Pentecost, church bulletins frequently show the wings of a dove, so brilliantly bright and white, it makes us wince.

I think it would be far wiser, more Lenten, and more honest, if the dove wings were tattered and caked in mud. Spirituality is seldom a soar or a sail; mostly, it is one long slog. The trouble with faith these days is that we no longer even know why they call Good Friday “good”, or why the last supper was truly the last.

Religious folks want to skip Lent and go straight to Easter, as if believing was like a get out of jail card in Monopoly.
There are no free passes in this Life of ours, except for the all of it, our lives which are built upon a solid foundation of Grace. Still, the living of our days requires lots of work and effort and tragedy and failure and despair and trauma, and a host of other assorted difficult junk, all of which makes many of our days, well -- damn difficult.

But, if you stare long enough at a dirty dove wing, you soon will be able to imagine the journey, the blue skies and sparkling sunlight, a shining moon or star, and the freedom of it, the climbing and the diving, and then you will appreciate how every splatter of dirt and grime, every mocking storm, each wind with a whip, was required.
Lent is a pilgrimage into wholeness, not perfection.

O, Lord of Lent, may our wings be muddied and some of our feathers torn, so that we will know how far we have come, and how far there is still to go. Amen.


LENT DAY 13: BITTERLY COLD
They told us it came from Canada, but it felt more like the Artic. The weatherman called it a cold snap. I called it a whipping. By the time I got to school that morning, my cheeks were chapped, my lips blue, and my boogers frozen. Even pulling my stocking cap down over my face offered no relief. And the mittens, knit by my Grandmother for Christmas, were a hopeless flop, and my fingers ached.

The whole day at school, I dreaded the return walk home. I knew it would be even colder, as the sun began to set. When the bell rang and we chugged outside to begin the dreaded trek homeward, I tried to run, which made me pee my pants, and I know had an ice shelf hanging off the crotch my husky sized corduroys.

By the time I got home, and walked through the back door, I was weeping. My mother immediately figured out my predicament, as she always did, and asked if I might like a hot chocolate, and a plate of steaming chocolate chip cookies. I stripped down, put on my thick flannel pajamas, and draped an afghan, another Grandma Christmas gift, and sat in my father’s Lazy-Boy, awaiting my mother’s arrival with the tray from Heaven.

Artic cold can turn our body’s blue, and our souls bitter. Our spirits long for warmth and yearn to thaw or melt. Our only desire is to NOT be cold anymore.

Lent can be thought of like walking to school and back in frigid temperatures. Easter can be thought of as hot chocolate and piping hot chocolate chip cookies. It will take a good hour before we feel comfortable again, and our dread of being forced back outside has grown to epic proportions.

There was a moment when my Mom wanted me to bring a few cookies to Grandma, but smiled and shook her head, and said they could wait until morning, when Grandma always came for coffee. The relief I felt was as wide as the sky, and if I could I would have sung the whole Handel “Hallelujah Chorus” – even if I didn’t know a word of it, or the fact that it was ironically only one word.

O, Lord of Lent, let my soul be warmed and my spirit lit on fire.  Melt away my bitter anger or envy or jealousy. Let the thick ice of my own insecurity thaw. Let your Grace, like a soft gentle warm summer breeze, ignite hope within me, and inspire joy in each and every day. Amen.


LENT DAY 14: BLINDINGLY BRIGHT
AUNTIE MAME was playing at the Granada Theater a block from our home. My mother so wanted to see the movie and promised me massive amounts of popcorn with butter if I would accompany her. We went to the early showing on a Saturday afternoon.

It had snowed all morning, about five inches worth, and now the sun was so bright the snow became one big glare. By the time we navigated the hundred yards to the Granada, our eyes were streaming tears. Mine winced, and I complained they even hurt.

When we hit the pitch-black inside of the theater, it took us a full five minutes before we could take our first halting step to find a seat -- the place was packed. I held my Mom’s hand, and we stumbled our way down to a few rows up from the enormous screen. The movie had started, and my Mom promised me we would stay through the beginning of the next showing in order to catch up.

I loved the movie, and my mother laughed so hard she said she wet her pants, which grossed me out to the max. I found the scene where Mame goes on a Broadway stage with her best friend Vera Charles and is wearing massive jewelry made of bells. The Broadway audience could barely hear Vera’s lines over the din of Mame’s jewelry, and so Vera yells at Mame that she sounds like a herd of reindeer. It cracked me up, and I shrieked with such laughter that my Mom poked me hard in the side – ironically, so she might hear the movie.

On a few occasions, Lent can be bright, so bright it will blind us. Lent’s light is at times like a laser beam, aimed to show us the pure unadulterated Truth of our bad habits. It is hard to witness and may even move us to tears.  Lent will show us our laziness in being forgiving, our many failures to love without conditions, and an attitude too often bloated by jealousy, meanness, rudeness, or the need to put someone so far down, they will need to have light piped down to them.

Maybe this is why Lent only occurs for a few days, and once a year. Otherwise it would be too much to handle. Blindingly bright light cannot be handled for long. It really does hurt.

O, Lord of Lent, open our eyes on a daily basis, so we can see, be aware, pay attention, and notice our behavior and attitude. Keep the light on for us, so we can be conscious of when and where and how we must change or repent or both. Amen.


LENT DAY 15: BETRAYALS
Lent is an ideal time to wrestle with betrayals. Lent’s essence is the seeking after significant quantities of mercy. Since betrayal happens to us all, and often yields a wickedly immense level of hurt and pain, again Lent is a good context for sorting out these raw emotions.

The most painful betrayal in my life ironically, was the result of returning to be the Lead Pastor at my home church. I was baptized there, confirmed, interned, was ordained, and installed. I not only had deep roots with this church, but my devotion to it was thick and ever so strong.

Within the first month, I knew I had made a major mistake. If I was called, it was collect. Though my official title was as Lead Pastor, it would be leadership which would arouse the most passionate resistance.

Soon I was being told I was not Lutheran enough, nor traditional enough, and that I was too interpretive of Scripture. I fully claim to all three, but what shocked me most was the nastiness of these attacks. Love and forgiveness, the very core of our faith, was missing in action.

There was no face to face meetings. There was no effort to reach a compromise. There was no Grace or forgiveness offered. Closure was simply demanding I disappear.

I still feel betrayed, and I am sure some of the congregants do as well. However, the greatest betrayal was rooted in the abandonment of the mercy Christ championed. My soul now carries  a deep and purple scar.

Had we practiced Lent, we would have sat down together, been honest and open, and tried to establish some common ground. Since Lent is always moving in the direction of Easter, we would have called ourselves to clarity, compromise, and if a good-bye, then a gracious and generous one.

Betrayals are damaging, and on the whole, most of the time unnecessary. Following a Jesus who asks us to love our enemies and turn the other cheek, we are reminded incessantly of the foolishness of betrayal – especially when it is claimed to be inspired by an oh so correct faith.

O, Lord of Lent, allow Lent to be the room in which we address matters of betrayal. Not only did betrayal enable Christ to be killed, it has destroyed many a pastor and congregation as well. Let us be wise. Let us be merciful and mature. Let us embrace one another if we must say good-bye. Amen.


LENT DAY 16: BEWILDERED
It is obvious how we get ourselves bewildered. We try to be perfect. We try to do it all. We try to keep everyone happy. And…we secretly believe we need no help from God. What we create is a whirlwind, and there is no way to catch the wind.

Being bewildered is an attitude of grandiosity and a complete lack of humility. Bewilderment is to be left eternally in the wilderness, with no hope of finding a promised land.

When I am bewildered, I am worried about everything. My anxiety is on high alert, and my fears have consumed my faith. When I am bewildered, I am isolated and alone, and feel alienated from everyone on the planet. I feel anonymous, unnecessary, and shattered into shards or fragments.

Being bewildered is akin to being caught on the carnival ride which spins us so fast, we are glued to a mesh cylinder wall until the floor falls away. Trusting the wall to hold us is like the American e pursuit of the good life. We believe moving faster is the secret to getting there, when the true key is slowing down and stopping altogether.
A key characteristic of Lent is slow. It is giving ourselves the time to stop and smell the roses, and to savor a dawn or dusk, and it is  knowing that rushing adds nothing to the quantity or quality of our days.

During Lent we gain an ease and comfort with being lost. It is during Lent when we begin to carefully mark the path to our pilgrimage. It is during Lent that we take steps in the direction of locating the Kingdom. It is in Lent that we finally walk the walk.

Think of Lent as a soupy soft grey fog which makes you stop motion of any kind. Since you cannot see where you are going, you are wise enough to rest and relax and embrace the stillness. Lent is having the patience and perseverance to wait for the fog to lift, because it always does, and it always will.

O, Lord of Lent, help us to slow way down, and free us to see and hear and feel and taste and smell. Enable us to come to our senses. Bring us down to earth. Let come back to the joy of being human and fully alive. Let us recognize there is no wisdom to be found in a rush, and the busyness creates only weariness and emptiness. Amen.


LENT DAY 17: SHHHHH!
Think of Lent as an old-school librarian. A woman with white hair pulled back into a bun. She wears mostly white lacy blouses pleated skirts and accessorized only by pearls and pumps. She is careful to coordinate her clothing to the season, especially regarding fabric and color.

“May I help you?” is her incessant greeting, but it is her firm, “Shhhhh!” for which she is best known.  I have never fully grasped why Library’s must be so blasted quiet, but it must have something to do with the need of concentrated attention when reading or conducting research.

Lent is equally focused on silence. Lent requires us to listen to our soul and notice how far we have drifted from the shore of our hopes and dreams and beliefs. We soon see that our lives have become a blur, and though we do a great deal, we are actually BEING very little -- as if we are more absence than presence. Ironically, we take great pride in our exhaustion, while failing to recognize how our weariness spoils so many special moments - even a relationship or two.

I take short walks these days, as my knees have become a source of significant ache. I love the hill which runs above the North Beach in Racine, my hometown. There are benches every hundred yards or so, and if I get pooped I just plop down for a breather and witness the varied loveliness of the lake.

I enjoy listening to and for the waves, or the laughter of those children who play in sand or shallow water. I especially love the summer smells of ethnic foods and the heavily accented chatter of families having picnics. These sounds somehow enhance the silence, and offer an atmosphere of relaxed happiness.

On a few mornings I have arrived at the lakefront at dawn. The beach is empty, except maybe for a walker or swimmer or two, occasionally a scampering dog. The rising sun turns the water shades of purple and pink, and then floats aloft like a lovely red balloon. I will sigh, though I have seen the scene many times before, and I will listen to the earth bid me welcome and invite me to have a glorious day.

“Shhhh!” the dawn says, don’t miss this. This is one of a kind. This one was created just for you.

O, Lord of Lent, let us be held in your gracious, generous arms. Let us speak quietly, “Hello, silence, my old friend, we have come to talk with you again.” We cannot wait to hear the raw joy in your voice; the soft sighs and the trembling oohs and aahs. Amen.


LENT DAY 18: LISTENING UP
Miss Foley was a wondrous fourth grade teacher. She had snowy wisps of hair, and she was always drinking glasses of water from a thermos she kept in the closet by her desk. She wore polka dots and draped her shoulders in a cream-colored sweater with pearl embellishments.

She smelled of lilacs, crisp clean sheets, and baby powder. Her shoes had huge clumpy heels, and we always knew when she was on the prowl – looking to see if we were getting our work done on time, and with good penmanship.
She had a big giggle of a laugh, and she would weep in joy when something struck her funny; like when Mickey Johnson announced his Christmas trumpet solo as, “I Saw Three Shits Come Sailing In”. After Mickey’s red faced solo, Miss Foley hugged him and said thanks for a wonderful laugh. I think her hug was more embarrassing than his infamous slip of the tongue.

My favorite thing about Miss Foley, was how when she wanted us to pay attention or notice, she would loudly say, “Listen up!” We came to know that whatever was going to be heard at such times, was of importance, had meaning, and mattered to Miss Foley.

I am not sure if kids today would really understand the idea of listening up. Their ears are being bombarded by such noise and nonsense much of the time, and by voices with little or nothing of value to say. I know this sounds harsh, but I suspect it is also true.

Lent, like Miss Foley, wants us to listen up. Lent wants us to hear the wishes of our hearts, the pains of our neighbors, the whispering needs of the lonely and the lost, and the myriad sounds of beauty and joy and goodness which speak the language of God every single day.

There is something about the word UP which distinguishes this kind of listening. It reminds us to listen for that which is on the up and up, and that which inspires, and words that lift us up to higher ground.

During recess, when we were scooting around the schoolyard, Miss Foley would sometimes ask us to stop and look up and listen up to the birds singing in the trees. I found it annoying, but there was this one day when she spotted a trio of orioles, orange wings aflame, and belting out  some silly quirky song.

O, Lord of Lent, make us smart enough to not miss such unforgettable moments, like the shock of seeing a rare oriole belting out a tune, while perched  on a lime laced sprig of Spring. Amen.


LENT DAY 19: A HOLE IN THE SKY
Forrest Church and I were good friends, the kind we savor for their lifting of spirits and moods. We were seated on the deck of his summer home on Shelter Island, and I love sipping my wine and playing rich. It was a hot sticky day in August, and the breezed were mere wisps and not the least refreshing.

Ironically, we had been talking about our sons, Frank and Justin, and how they were painfully plodding their way into early adulthood. We even considered writing a book together for Father’s Day, a simple devotional piece, until we erupted in laughter at the revelation, we were equally lousy Dads.

Frank suddenly strode out to the water with his personalized kayak held aloft over his head. He announced he was paddling to the lighthouse and back. We wished him well and savored the notion we need not follow. Frank was about fifty years from shore when a bowling lane rumble was heard, and the wind suddenly shifted and cooled. White capped chop soon appeared on of the water, and a slight drizzle became a steady pelt.

In just a few jarring moments, a full-blown tempest was unleashed. Forrest placed the New York Times “Art and Leisure” section over his head and went to the railing of the deck – he sought in vain to spot Frank and the kayak. The lightning crackled, and the thunder played like a symphony of bass drums – and the worry swarmed.  Forrest scanned the horizon as if he was a spectator at Wimbledon.

Suddenly a hole was poked through the sky, and a shaft of sun shot through. There in that momentary spotlight was Frank, paddling madly and making inching progress. However, he waved and we both imagined him laughing and loving the battle with nature.

It was then Eternity crawled through the hole as well. I looked at Forrest’s face and noticed his wet eyes, his cheeks freshly pink, glowing of relief and joy. A smile was wrapped around his head. He had become the visual aid of the human capacity for love. I was awed by its simple beauty and promise and hope of beholding his splendid face.

O, Lord of Lent, we trust Lent to eventually reveal a shaft of Easter. This glorious light will illuminate for us the challenge to love every child on earth -- with the same amazing intensity of Forrest for Frank. Lent speaks Truth, the transforming Word of God, and reveals All God’s children are indeed our children, and our responsibility. Amen.


LENT DAY 20: PLAYING POETS
Bob Shober was my best friend for over forty years. We met at S. Olaf College in Northfield, Minnesota. We thought of ourselves as real adventurers, but in truth, we were indulgent aristocrats, and either one of us could have easily won the part of Felix in Neil Simon’s THE ODD COUPLE.

Every autumn we tried to catch a long weekend of foliage viewing. This year we were in Williamstown, Massachusetts, and decided to drive to the top of Mt. Greylock. As we neared the apex, low hanging clouds suddenly enshrouded our car, and left us crawling at about five miles per hour.

At one point the cloud cover cleared momentarily, and we were stunned to see just how perilously close we were to a steep cliff void of any guardrail. Though the view offered a glimpse of glorious color, we knew enough not to stop and risk a major fender bender.
Suddenly the sun appeared, and the clouds became “our carpet”. We pulled off at a rest area with an awe-inspiring scenic overlook. We decided to sit out the cloud cover if we could and enjoyed a hot coffee and scone from a cart being hosted by a lanky ginger haired college kid. He sensed our enormous relief and promised the clouds would indeed soon fade.

We wisely chose to return to the bottom and our hotel. On the drive back down, every turn and view were more breathtaking than the last. This was a truly transforming time, when Heaven had come down to earth, and we had been given the chance to reach up and embrace it. To hug a miracle, even for a moment, is to come to our senses, and to be reborn.

At this point we each noticed the other was in tears. We laughed and told one another to never breathe a word of it. “Bill, I have a lump in my throat so huge, I cannot even swallow.” “Bob I am so full I am leaking.” Oh, how we loved playing poet together.

Lent can be a long and even frightening journey, but it is well worth the climb. Lent is seeking. It is reaching up to the beauty and goodness and majesty of being fully alive. Lent is a downward ascent and will finally head back upward assured that Easter will be found somewhere near the top.

O, Lord of Lent, we give thanks for moments which give us a glimpse of Heaven, and the chance to behold the earth adorned in Grace. Lent somehow manages to bring us down to earth, back to Life, and up to God. Amen


LENT DAY 21: CREATIVE CONFLICT
After forty plus years as a minister, I can say with some certainty that the greatest flaw within the Church is its inability to name or claim conflict, let alone to even attempt to creatively resolve one. The Church does not seek to love the enemy, but pretends no enemy even exists. For this reason, the Church does not mature, and the faith it tries to actualize is often childish and crude.

Conflict is the pulse of maturation, and maturing is the equivalent of being spiritual. Both maturation and spirituality recognize the delicate balance of Life and Death, humanity and divinity, good and evil, but most of all, stagnation and creativity. Void of conflict, our lives are nothing more than a marching in place in quicksand.

Lent is rooted in creative conflict. It is a battle to find genuine meaning and real hope. Even the ground of Grace carries within it a potential quaking, the shaking of our foundations. Lent rocks the boat and calls upon us to repent and change and open our souls to transformation. Lent is a time of scrutiny and examination and asking ourselves the tough questions as to how we must change.

Lent is a long slog. It is not a stroll. It is a hike in search of hope. It is a prowling after that which will lift our spirits and our “game,” and bring out our very best. Lent is a journey and a pilgrimage and a sojourn of the soul.

Lent does not prepare us for some “jellybean and chocolate bunny” Easter. Lent has been a long march, and a passionate search for a point and a purpose to our lives. Lent is the time of last suppers and crosses, and the great conflict of facing the scalding truth about our Selves. Lent is when we try to catch the wind and tame the chaos.
Lent breaks a sweat and makes the heart ache. Lent kneads the soul back into shape and fires it in a furnace of service and sacrifice. Lent is when we hear again of the behaviors required of a disciple. Lent is the surrender of following. Lent is a beginning and not an ending.

O, Lord of Lent, be the ropes of the ring which will define the space where conflict can be fairly and safely waged. Let the winner and the loser both have their fists held aloft, and may the peace won be eternal. Amen.


LENT DAY 22: CREATING CALM
Though Lent can be loud and wild, a bit crazy, out of its mind, and trembling with an anxiety which threatens to the burst the soul, it must also know lengthy bits of calm. The issue is how… how can we create calm? Does it come from the outside in, or is it embedded in the genes, merely the reflection of some stoic or Swedish inclination?

Calm can indeed be created by yoga, meditation, walking, jogging, good music, a good book, or even a good conversation or meal. Calm is often the result of simply making a choice, waving the white flag, and surrendering the desire to be in control. It is our lust to be in charge which spews forth most chaos, and so relinquishing said power is likely to calm the waters.

But for me, there is one sure way to find calm, and that is to forgive myself. I admit this is neither easy, nor does it happen frequently, but it is mercy alone which soothes my soul and calms my ever-present rage and fear. What am I forgiving? Everything…all the time... and in relationship to everyone. I know in my depths that much of the time I must love the enemy, because I have so often made everyone and everything into one.

Sound dramatic? Well, of course, the great drama of Life is how we manage to ceaselessly find fault with ourselves and our neighbors and our God. The Bible calls us to pray without ceasing, but we misread that as “prey”; always looking for the weak link, the flaw or failing, the crack or crevice, the blemish on the tip of the nose. Are we always this bad, this desirous of getting even? Yes, and more than we could possibly admit in a single sitting.

For me, it is a magnificent mercy which frees my scrambled mind to cease its spin; the ache of my yearning to no longer throb; my broken heart to mend; my weary soul to refill; and my life feel as though is just might be worth it.

On Christmas Eve, when we sing the lovely lyric, “all is calm, all is bright,” it captures the peace which does pass all understanding. As we gaze upon an innocent infant, without any need to judge or critique, we can be stunned by the lava of love which will flow. The lowly infant is pure, even holy, and there is a hush and calmness in the air. We can breathe easily, and our steps are confident and courageous. Calm brings out our truest most gracious Selves.

O, Lord of Lent, calm oozes out of the human wound called Grace, and Grace is liquid love, and this river of love flows steady and strong on a current of mercy. We will go with the flow. Amen.


LENT DAY 23: CREATING A RAY OF HOPE
It has always been true. One solo candle can light up the darkest night. A candle in a window welcomes us home. A sliver of moon can guide our way.

These are terrifying times we live in. The lying alone has devoured so much of our belief in goodness and one another. The greed has gone viral and has become a malignancy of the soul. The lack of compassion and care and concern is tragic, even traumatic.

I find in our young people, a genuine uncertainty about the future. They are cynical about most adults as so many grown-ups seem unwilling to behave maturely. Our youth wonder if they can make any difference at all, and quietly suspect we are like lemmings on the way to the sea -- maybe already off the cliff.

It is just not easy to create real hope. It is hard to be positive and productive. It is brutally tough to find our way back to building the Kingdom of God, and not erecting some crazy gated Camelot. I would suggest three basic attitudes and perspectives that might help us create a more hopeful attitude and perspective.

First, do not make your values or ethics either/or. Make them both/and. Our black and white living in America has ground us to a spiritual and maturational halt and left our nation hopelessly divided. Respect the greys and choose the compromise or build consensus.

Second, we must dig in and get rid of the racism. Those who are white must recognize that historically we have long been the primary culprits. We whites are not superior. We never have been. We have stooped so low as to take human beings as slaves, and to stuff others in ovens for their beliefs, and now we will build walls to keep them out – no matter how real the need.

Third, and finally, we must face the facts of a future which will indeed test our depth and our mettle. Global warming is real. Resources are dwindling. The flight of refugees will only get larger and steadier. The promise of technology is clearly questionable, unless we apply morality, regulation, and adult wisdom to it. Our future demands courage and conviction and ample creativity – as well as a steadfast hope.

O, Lord of Lent, let our attitudes be generous and gracious, and may our lifestyles reflect genuine concern and compassion, so that we might create a saner and more livable tomorrow. Amen.


LENT DAY 24: CREATING A LIVING FAITH
A living faith must grow, doubt, question, seek, examine, explore, and be at home with change and transformation. A living faith can neither rest on its laurels, nor become stagnant in its hope. A living faith is what Lent is all about, and this means trying to breathe new life into the whole concept of resurrection.

So much of American faith has become nothing more than bumper sticker religion, offering easy answers and woefully simplistic platitudes, both of which fail miserably to address the complex issues of our times and world.
We seem to be a religious culture which believes we alone will dispense the winning ticket into Heaven; use the Bible for indoctrination and not inspiration; and treat the Holy Spirit as never being intellectual, challenging of the status, or forbidding deep questions.

When faith becomes rigid in its beliefs, void of graciousness and generosity, and promotes the notion that God is highly selective and harshly judgmental, then this is a dead-end faith. This is the same whitewashed religion of the biblical Pharisees, who Jesus stated were full of dead man’s bones.

Lent calls upon us to come alive; Lent demands that we notice and pay attention; Lent challenges us to address those issues which threaten our planet, our people, our safety, our sanity, our worth and our value. Lent does not orbit our lives, but lands right smack dad in the midst of them. Lent does not have pretty soft clean hands, but hands that are barked and soiled and cut and bruised by the task of building the Kingdom.

This Lent, ask yourself in faith, if Jesus is American, white, southern, Republican, affluent, and, isn’t this akin to creating God in our own image? This Lent, ask if your experience of Jesus is as a hater of Muslims, Jews, gays, feminists, liberals, or cultural outcasts? Does Jesus expect our leaders and citizenry to espouse a cloned creedal faith, or was Jesus wise in choosing twelve disciples who could not agree on much? A living faith is not afraid of entering the mystery of not knowing, or the intellectual striving so eager to understand, or the miracle of being speechless when we have the most to say.

O, Lord of Lent, let us think long and hard about it…and then pray even longer and harder. Amen.


LENT DAY 25: DYING WELL
In the last year of his life, Forrest Church offered me the same advice on three separate occasions. He told me to forgive everyone everything, and that in the end I was responsible to “die well”. Those lessons, like the whole of Forrest’s life, ministry and writing -- stuck to my soul.

Dying well --what does this really mean, and how do we do it or be it, or attempt to experience it? My answers are slim, a bit skeptical, and enormously intrigued. Every day we are living we are also dying. This is the nature of being a human being.

Being human is the will of God, and we spend a lifetime trying to be anything but human. Humans have beginnings and endings. God alone is eternal, and yet, I suspect we get glimpses of eternity before, during and after our days on this earth.

The challenge of Life is to live well knowing fully we will die, and will never know when, where, or how. Our lives are built upon a ground which quakes. Our very foundations are prone to shake. There is the occasional fissure, or even the creation of a gaping canyon.

Life rolls along. There is a flow to it, and at times it feels like tubing down a lovely lazy river on a hot summer day. But then, as we age, we begin to hit the rapids. The water goes wild, and we can hear the roaring sound of the falls which lies ahead. We feel little control at all.

We know how to make a difference. We certainly know what matters. We are not stupid or foolish, unless we choose this charade as a way of coping. It is in loving extravagantly, void of conditions, that we change the world for the better. It is in letting our mercy swarm, that we become deeper, fuller, and saner individuals.

Success is irrelevant. Greatness is momentary and mostly artificial. Dying well calls upon us to lead significant and substantial lives; lives which serve and sacrifice and suffer; lives which jump for joy and weep with sorrow; and a life spent knowing we are enough, as is the thing called a Life. Both are loaded with point and purpose.
Lent is a short intensive course on how to die well, which religious folks call the Passion.

O, Lord of Lent, dying well is to possess a faith which can conquer fear. It is being sad when it all must end. It is the gut-wrenching grieving of our losses. It is wondering where we will go from here. Of course, there is no place else to go, but back to Life. Dying well is an ultimate trust, a holy hunch we will all one day melt into the heart of God. Amen.


LENT DAY 26: BEYOND BELIEF
I am not a big fan of creeds. I can respect their historical relevance, appreciate their effort to express something of eternal value, and even trust some of their words. But, on the whole, I think creeds fail, and fail miserably. They simply do not lift us up to higher ground. They do not bring out our best. They inspire nothing but rote religion, and scalpel edged divisions.

On the whole the Church has spent extraordinary time, energy, funds and faith on battling out the meaning of the phrases of creeds. Any attempt to alter a creed, let alone compose a new one, is met with utter disdain. It seems, only old words, spoken or written by the faithful of the long ago, are thought to contain the Holy Spirit.

For me, the bottom line is that I much prefer deeds to creeds. There are many who talk a good line, but few who manage to walk it. Most of all, I think it unwise to try and get us to speak as clones or pack our collective faith into a single suitcase. It may be impressive to hear a crowd chant a creed, but what power does it really unleash – primarily, I suspect, arrogance and self-righteousness.

I cannot express what I believe. I can point at it, like a child seeing a firefly. I can offer a glimpse or glance, or even tell a story which might contain a morsel of the essence of my faith. But…there is no way I can put into words what it is I find moving, transforming, or which animates my being.

The song, the poem, the work of art, the tenderly gardened flower, the harvesting of that which will feed us, may each reveal a facet of faith, but this puzzle will always have more than one missing piece.

I am comfortable with awe, being moved to tears, or left dumbstruck. I think the raw wonder or grief witnessed on a face says more than words could ever speak. We look down in humility. We look up in reverence. We gaze through a veil of tears. Our eyes speak for us, and the tears speak a sacred language – surprisingly well understood all around the world.

I think the Quakers have it right when it comes to quiet and silence. They speak only when and if they have something of substance or significance to say – moved by the Spirit. Even then, inspired by the Spirit, we never manage to fully capture our beliefs in mere words, nor can anyone else fully grasp what it is we each believe.

O, Lord of Lent, free us to shut our mouths and open our souls and write creeds with our lives. Amen.


LENT DAY 27: BEYOND TRAGEDY
In the Spring of my Junior Year at St. Olaf College, I received a disturbing phone call. A British gentleman explained to me in a pained voice, that my uncle, William R. Grimbol, my namesake, had been murdered. I was stunned.

He went on to elaborate how my uncle had hired a young chap to do deliveries for him, as Uncle Bill was the popular local butcher in Cheshunt, England. This sixteen-year-old boy wanted to join the London chapter of the infamous “Hell’s Angels”, and membership require him to commit a serious crime.  He clobbered my uncle over the head with a tire iron, and then sprinted away; never thinking my uncle would bleed to death overnight.

After I got off the phone, I nervously pondered what I would say to my father. The detective from Scotland Yard with whom I spoke had told me he had been encouraged by Uncle Bill’s wife, Florrie, to call me before my Dad, as she knew it would be overwhelming for Lenny.

She was right. When I told him, he dropped the phone, and my mother then spoke with me briefly, and haltingly, before making him a cup of coffee, and then sitting in their respective rocking chairs on the front porch. I told her I would pack and head home immediately. I said it all felt so odd. I also expressed how much Dad had been looking forward to spending time with his brother following retirement.

I wish there was a happy ending to this story. There is not. My father became a very anxious and frightened man, and spent endless hours listening to the police radio. He would check to see all was locked before bed, sometimes as many as five or six times. Dad tried to be his old jolly Self, but the bitterness of raw evil had ruined his capacity for relaxation or joy.

A few years later, while on vacation from Seminary, I sat with him on the same front porch, in the same rockers, and asked if he still missed his brother Bill; he nodded and wept. He said nothing would ever be the same. I told him I agreed. I told him it was normal to feel this way – even if I did not have a clue. I even told him how I hoped he would find his way back to Life, as he had a leading role in my life’s play. He smiled and thanked me for saying so.

O, Lord of Lent, remind us that following a tragedy, not only does Life go on, but the clock continues to tick and  count the moments. Give us the courage to hear that beat again and  rejoin the dance – even if we can barely recall the steps. Amen.


LENT DAY 28: BEYOND THIS LIFE
What lies beyond this life? If the truth be told, we will never know. Just as we cannot possibly explain the before of Life, we have no words to offer understanding of what lies beyond.

We may talk of Heaven like we’ve been there several times before, or that we know most of the inhabitants, and are quite sure we ourselves will be model citizens, but again, we haven’t a clue.

We have no knowledge of Heaven, even if we have some powerful and even swarming hints, hunches, and beliefs. What lies beyond this Life is 100% a matter of faith. Nobody knows. Nobody can say who will be there, if anyone. Nobody can offer a map or the image of the landscape. What we now of Heaven is smaller than a grain of sand.
It is strange that we often talk of heaven with such authority. My own mother told me she would not die until someone came bac and told her exactly what it was like. I reminded her that after four full decades of ministry, nobody had ever returned to explain the event or experience to me.

My raw honesty only made her angry, and she looked at me with disgust, as if had I done my job better, someone would have most assuredly returned and filled me in on the details of heaven, so  I might be able to do the very same for my beloved Mom. She asked me how many funerals I had performed, and when I said in excess of a thousand, she glared, and she been able to spit poisonous venom – well, I would have gotten an eye full.

Faith is surrender; it is a knowing that we do not and cannot know. It is embracing the mystery. It is accepting the limitations of our brains and our lives. It is letting go of any effort to be in control. It is absolute proof positive we are not in charge.

The best we can do when considering what lies beyond this Life of ours, is to consider what our lives have shown us and taught us. It would seem likely that what we have experienced in the here and now might well be echoed or foreshadowed in the beyond. Then again, this could be hopelessly and foolishly wrong.

My own conclusion on the subject is quite simple. Everything I have known and loved and experienced, promises me that the beyond will be at the very least, just as good, but I suspect probably better – much better, a leap of faith better.

O, Lord of Lent, grant us a leaping faith, one which welcomes the chance to greet the beyond. Amen.


LENT DAY 29: A SHOCK OF MILD
The temperature climbed to near 55 degrees, and the shock of this mild weather was delicious. So many people were outside, attempting to look busy, but mainly just soaking in the baby blue sky and soft air. I decided it was great day for a walk.

I went down to the beach. It was slightly cooler there, but the water was so still it reflected each nook and cranny of the puppy clouds. I took off my shoes and socks and decided I would go to the first jetty of rocks, take a little break, and then do the return trip at a quickened pace.

This is exactly what I did, except the break at the rocks lasted about two hours. I was suddenly swept by a lovely meringue of sadness and settled with some memories whipped up on top. Sound delicious or sweet? Well, it wasn’t. It was simply one of those days I knew I could look back on my many mistakes, and genuinely ask to be forgiven.

We know when we have wronged others, or wasted our lives, or taken dead-end paths. We may try to stay so busy we need not bother with our flaws, but this was that kind of affectionate day which put its arm around me and told me to let it all out.

I recalled the winced faces when my words had poked someone in the heart. I thought about my long-held grudges, petty jealousies, or relationships destroyed by pride, indifference, or a whopper of a lie. A few nasty farts of deceit wafted on by, and I shuddered at the recollection of having betrayed someone I loved.

Asking God for forgiveness is easy. Expecting any kind of response is the tough part. My faith is thin and fragile when it comes to repentance. My mind taunts me with the notion I can do it myself, or to stop being so dramatic, or exaggerating my own importance. But on a day like this day, I felt like even I deserved mercy – just like the earth.

I walked back the whole way and was only mildly short of breath – pretty good for my fat old frame. I got back to my car and stood and took in the lake for a few more minutes. There was a family there, and they were all flying kites. The kites were performing like a chorus line, weaving in clever patterns, and never once tripping over the other. My heart leapt with joy!

O, Lord of Lent, thanks for being so stunningly soft and sweet at times. You make me feel like I deserved to be made whole again, and I am deeply grateful. I am shattered whole, and you alone can see the billions of cracks and crevices, even the signs of glue – the Grace of God. Amen.


LENT DAY 30: A CURIOUS CROCUS
I still get quite a kick out of crocus. They remind me of little tykes sneaking around looking for the hiding places of Christmas presents. They pop up here and there, unexpectedly, and with such an impish grin on their faces.

I love the colors of crocus. The bright white, the buttery yellow, the pale purple, and they emerge from underneath brittle old leaves and out of moisturized gooey earth. Since they are always the unexpected guest, they catch us off guard, and give rise to a grin, and then we stoop to stare.

At some point Lent no longer needs to dig further down, and so the ascent begins. The crocus is nature’s herald of this climb to come. It is now time for us to consider not simply how we have erred in our ways, how we have failed to be the people God created to us be, but to make some concrete decisions about change.

Change, as Lent has taught us once again, provides us with a battle. We cling to our old ways, and resist becoming new with almost everything we have. However, Lent has unleashed the soul, uncovered it, recovered it, or in rare cases, discovered it. Once the soul is out of the box, so to speak, it is free to find “food”. Change is that food, and it comes with a side of maturation.

What would make your life happier, healthier, and more hope filled? What changes would you like to make in yourself? What do you suspect God would like to see you alter, or risk diving into whole hog and being transformed? Are they the same…these changes you seek, and what God wants?

Try making what God wants the number one priority, the resolution of greatest value. God has the knack of narrowing things down to the essential. Like taking all those religious rules and regulations, and simply asking us to love one another and our God. Our Higher Power sticks to the basics – like staying sober.

Make plans. The ascent requires planning, and imagining the steps to be taken to higher ground. No mountain climber decides their route spontaneously. They have a pretty good idea of where he or she can find rest or the needed support. These plans do not promise victory, but they do create the best chance to succeed.

O, Lord of Lent, the journey up to Easter begins with the clarion call of crocus, trumpeting our need to make plans and get prepared for this spiritual pilgrimage to higher ground. The crocus, dear Lord, will defy us to think back to Winter, and call us forward to Spring. Amen.


LENT DAY 31: A BREATH OF FRESH AIR
Stuck inside for yet another solemn grey cold Winter’s day. This is indeed the bleak mid-winter. The air inside smells like stale socks. It makes us want to gag. It makes breathing a chore. It shrouds the day in a sense of stagnation.

Just go outside, and then inhale deeply. The air out there will always be a bit fresher than the moldy attic scented air of the indoors in the midst of Winter. Inhale again, and the fresh air will tingle. It soon revives your spirit and offers inspiration to the soul. Somehow, there is a desire unleashed by a deep inhaling of fresh air.

Fresh air wakes us up. We need to be jarred awake. Winter has enabled us to grow quite sluggish and lazy. We often hibernate at this point of the year. We yearn only to sleep and nap and escape. It is not a period of time ripe for being alive. But the fresh air is just what we need and reminds us each and every day is a gift. The fresh air points out the deep held longing for a full life, no matter what the month or season.

Ultimately, Lent is like fresh air. It slaps us in the face and yells. “Snap out of it!” It isn’t a nasty slap or a real belt in the mug, but it still hard enough to jar us loose. Lent challenges us to put a little pep in our step. In the final days of the downward ascent of Lent, we are being cajoled into recognizing that each day demands are full present. Being fully present is the very foundation of a full Life.

Breathe in, and breathe out, and savor the sweetness of filling up on that which fresh. Let Lent win you over and claim you to be upward bound. Just breathing fresh air and our attitude is altered, and our perspective has climbed up to higher ground – where all the goodness and beauty can be seen.

Lent is like CPR, offering us the chance to live again, to hear the rhythm and dance to the beat, and to move with the flow of the day.

O, Lord of Lent, open up our lungs and our very being to the freshness of the air, and let this clean air ignite in us the wish to skip, or jump for joy, or to  stride forward in the battle of maturation. Amen.


LENT DAY 32: BUTTERED EARTH
Have you ever noticed that the first colors of Spring are mostly yellow? The palette of Spring is almost exclusively pastel, but it is buttery yellow which heralds Spring’s arrival. The daffodils; the forsythia; the buttercups; even the dandelions; arrive in waves of yellows, announcing Winter’s demise.

The earth, like fresh popcorn, is left dripping in delicious sweet butter. At this point in Lent, we know we are coming back to Life. We are returning to our God and to our very Selves. We are finishing up the long journey back home, and like a beacon of hope, these merry yellows will guide us.

Why yellow? Well, I suspect it has something to do with the sun, and that it is hard not to feel happier in a yellow room.  Yellow is a day lightener and brightener. Yellow lifts the spirits. Yellow shakes off the cobwebs of Winter, and this most lovely color darts and dashes about like a butterfly. Yellow feels alive, like raw energy, even joy.

Take a long lazy drive or walk in early Spring and count the yellows you see. You will be amazed. They are literally spread everywhere, as if the earth was smeared with a thick layer of buttery goodness. Savor it, and take it in slowly, and realize how spending is this Life now returning in all its glory.

In Winter we behold the beauty of fresh snow, berries and blue skies so bright they can blind us. In Spring we smile at all these dabs of yellows that speckle the landscape. No matter what the season, God finds a way to grab our attention, to make us take notice, and to invite us to let the wonder coat our souls.

Lent is winding it up now. It is ready to climb to the top and take in the vision we call Easter. Easter is a way of Life, and a new perspective, and a recommitment to all that is love and forgiveness. Easter is the event of Grace, the promise that eternity is ours anytime we seek it or keep ourselves open to its presence.


LENT DAY 33: LIME LACE
The lime lace arrives and drapes the trees delicately and yet, with a certain grandeur. Lent is reaching its conclusion, and the beginning of new life is showing its hope and promise. Everything begins to quiver with excitement and energy. Everything appears ripe and raw. And behold, it is all very good.

We have all had moments when we knew a tough patch was over, a crisis completed, and that a fresh start had taken its first toddling steps. These are moments when we feel as if we have swallowed the sun. We cannot stop smiling, and our beings just ooze with a magnificent mercy and an extravagant love.

On such a day, when we cannot possibly NOT notice that Spring has sprung, we become childlike. We are curious and wish to wander all about. Our imaginations soar out into the sky and deep into the sea. We yearn to play, which is to re-create, and we flirt and become familiar with the earth and Life again.

Think of it as a spiritual tryst. A first date. There is much anxiety all about, but also a confident wish which refuses to cease its steady climb, and soon will sprout or bud or both. It is a moment of first love, a time of experiencing our own lust for a full life. We become goosebumps, and we take in the lime lace with mouths agape.

Seize the day. This is a thought, an idea, a concept, an attitude, a perspective, but I believe it was born in Spring. We truly do not possess an original idea or thought. Our lives merely mimic what the Creation inspires and dictates. To desire to hug or be hugged by a moment in Time, is the very nature of springtime, the heart of this the season or rebirth. I suspect, if we think about it for a bit, it is in Spring when we adults are most inclined to giggle.

O, Lord of Lent, free us to behold the lime lace. Let us long to touch it and wrap ourselves up in it. Let us know we are now wearing a most divine disguise. And then, be proud of us when we strut our stuff! Amen.


LENT DAY 34: THE BLOSSOMING
My favorite aromas are fresh baked bread, anything with cinnamon, a baby’s skin after a bath, and of course, lilacs and the blossoms of Spring.

The Hill upon which St. Olaf College is built, is strewn with lilacs in May. The scent is heavenly, and the impact is rampant lust and a passion to romp in the grass, play in the sun, and to somersault down Old Main Hill – the same place where we rode cafeteria trays down well whipped snow.

Wandering the St. Olaf campus in May is a heady experience. It is full of longings and yearnings and dreams of every size and shape and color. It is also ripe with a calm and contentment, a soul which is soaked in bliss, and an awareness that we are beloved and blessed beyond measure.

I have tried to find a walk which inspired me like those at St. Olaf in May, but now, almost fifty years later, it is simply an aroma and an emotion and a belief I cannot fully resurrect.

Still, Spring, wherever I may be, manages to arouse in me an itch, a wanting, and a hope for doing genuinely good things, being someone of significance and substance, and being fully present each day - dawn to dusk. Spring is the season which ignites my spirit and opens my eyes and heart and mind to all the possibilities.

Lent is ultimately following Spring’s trail. We are following a spiritual pilgrimage which has taken us down some bleak barren and bumpy paths, or off course to dead-ends, or into places loaded with briars which can draw blood. Lent can be a real maze or obstacle course.

Eventually, however, the path begins to clear, it is better marked, and we relax and look up or to the side, not having to watch our step. As Lent winds its way to the spiritual finish line, we are enjoying our stroll, and taking in all the lovely vistas and aromas which challenge us to come back to Life.

By the time we near Easter, there is a hint in the air, a lilac call to skip, to rejoice, to become whole, to know that Life is good and so are we, and like each and every Spring – more than enough!

O, Lord of Lent, we do know when something stinks, and we know even better when something smells like Heaven. Amen.


LENT DAY 35: UP TO HIGHER GROUND
It's strange when we're having an off day, we are laser focused on every little thing going wrong. Sounds grate on our nerves, we wince, we shudder, we feel bloated with sour, and most situations and people get on our nerves. We surround ourselves, in thought, word and deed, with spiritual barbed wire. We give off the message… “Stay away!”

However, when we are having a good day, even a lovely day, we are almost completely oblivious. We hardly even notice. We fail to pay attention to the fact we are a bit happier; we have energy, even zest; things are coming a little easier; we even like most people, most of the time; and we enjoy the day - it just comes naturally.

I find Lent to be just such an experience. We have been slogging along through all the scrutinizing spiritual “stuff”, working hard at being on the up and up, but fail to appreciate how each day we have been getting better. Then it finally hits us, the revelation strikes…THIS IS HIGHER GROUND - WE ARE HERE.

Higher ground is the domain of folks who have gotten a bit better, a lot smarter, and a little wiser. Higher ground has nothing to do with superiority, but everything to do with our capacity to enjoy the ordinary day to day. We experience average as good enough, and common, as most uncommon.

Higher ground is an altitude with attitude. Higher ground is a perspective. Higher ground is a belief that we can make a difference. Higher ground is being fully awake and aware and alive. Higher ground is doing and being mature. Maturity, when on higher ground, is thought of as spirituality.

Lent is a lift. We forget this. Lent picks us up, and even carries us. Lent gives us much needed strength and courage. Lent gets us back in the game of Life and restarts our curiosity and imagination. Lent is a climber, and as our spirits rise, we become more loving, merciful, generous and gracious.

Lent began by calling upon us to dig way down deep and explore the muck and mire of our lives and our world. However, somehow, someway, Lent locates a spiral staircase and we cautiously climb up, cautious only because at the beginning, on the bottom steps, we cannot see the top. Atop the steps, we see none other than the sacred turf we label higher ground.

O, Lord of Lent, stop us in our tracks, so we can see we have arrived, and this holy ground beneath our feet is the loamy dirt of Easter – the most fertile soil there is. We will be fecund! Amen.


LENT DAY 36: THE SEED
Think of a seed. A tiny, trembling, tentative thing. It yawns into life and stretches. Unseen wings begin to unfurl, and they are never noticed again until the day they die. The seed yearns to go up. Up is its nature. Up is its calling. Up is its very soul.
At first, the task of rising is painful and could break a heart. It is dirty work. It is moving in muck so thick; it makes every step perilous. The seed slogs on. The seed does not complain, but the sighs of the seed are deep and full, and express agony and ecstasy in equal measure.

The laboring of the seed continues for days and nights. Weeks go by. The seed gets weary, and the worrying begins. The seed is haunted by questions and doubts, and longs to go back to the “slavery” from whence it came. At least there and then the seed knew exactly what it was doing, even if it hadn’t a clue as to why.

Exhaustion coats the seed with grimy sweat. The seed is ripe for collapse. The seed is wallowing in despair so thick; it could suffocate a star. Then, out of nowhere, out of everywhere, a second wind kicks in. The seed is bloated with determination. The soul of the seed makes a fist and punches its way through the crusted surface of the ground.

The seed suddenly turns neon lime green. Above, everything is blue, and the seed inhales sweet Life and fills it lungs with the love of it all. The seed is sure now. There will be a bud. There will be a pinking of readiness. The blossom will burst. The smell of it will be exquisite, and the seed has faith this perfume expresses its divinity.

This is the journey of Lent. We came all this way to know once again, we are blessed and beloved beyond measure. Every moment of every day embraces us with so much mercy and magnificence, it takes our breath away. But…then we breathe again, and we look, we look up and out and beyond, and we give voice to our vision, as we say, “Amen”.

Our stunned silence follows, and shouts with a quivering gratitude. We are quite certain that we, like the seed, will soon be swallowing the sun whole.

O, Lord of Lent, we jump for joy as we come to the final days of this sacred journey called Lent. We are up on higher ground, and we can see beyond the worries and fears of the world, and we believe fully we will blossom soon, and our flowering will be a dazzling discipleship, as spectacular as the arrival of a single Spring flower. Amen.

LENT DAY 37: THE FADING OF OUR FEARS
Fear is pervasive. Fear is powerful. Fear is worn like a shroud. Fear is a patchwork quilt. There are worries galore. There is the ever-present pounce of anxiety. There is a sense of dread. There is a thick coating of regret, and the drum beat of what if?

Lent claims this fear, in fact, invites it in for a forty-day visit. Lent knows we must pick up this cross, and we must carry it. We must clutch our fears and worries and anxieties to our chest, and name them one by one. Then, and only then, can we begin to tame them.

Lent is wise. Lent is aware we can never be fully fear free. Our worries may not always swarm, but we all will, from time to time, hear a buzzing about our head. Fear is being human, trying to live while knowing we will someday die, and is bound to create a significant number of qualms.

Lent is when we must entertain our fright. We must be the good host. In getting to know that which can terrorize us, we begin to understand the roots of our anxiety and the sources of our fear. They are real, and not imagined, but they are also not nearly as powerful as we once believed.

Lent is like a peace conference. Both sides must be represented and heard. That within us which wages a war of worry, and that within us which seeks and creates peace – the peacemaking side. Like Jesus meeting Satan in the desert, Satan does not disappear, but departs until a more opportune time. Jesus accepts the presence of Satan.

As Lent progresses, the fear begins to fade. Lent has been moving us, transforming us, freeing us of our fears by managing them, and reminding us we have the courage and creativity to make them work for us. I call this process “Eastering”; the lifting of the fog so we can see the light shine against the rain clouds and spawn a rainbow or two.

O, Lord of Lent, free us to shake hands and swap souls with our enemies, including our myriad worries, fears and anxieties. Amen.
 
LENT DAY 38: THE FIRMING OF OUR FAITH
When I was kid, I loved red Jell-O. My Mom would often whip me up a batch before school and tell me I could have it when I got home.

After school I would scoot home and race to the refrigerator. However, most times it was not quite done. Though the top did shimmer, there was still a puddle or two. Mom would say, “It hasn’t fully set, but by the time we are finished with supper - it should be ready.” It drove me crazy to wait for the red Jell-O to be ready to wiggle. Waiting is just not a kid talent.

Lent is also a time of waiting, only this time what is setting is our faith. Lent is a time when we are responding to God’s call to let our faith gel. It is Lent’s hope we will regain our strength of faith, a firmness of convictions, and the willingness to follow our callings. Lent creates discipleship, and discipleship is when faith has finally coagulated.

A firm faith is frequently called into action. A firm faith must serve, sacrifice, and make a difference. A firm faith has what it takes to walk the walk, and not just talk the talk. Remember, there is nothing wrong with the talk, unless the talking never gels, and never yields any changes or actions of charity – the building of the Kingdom.

The dollop of whipped cream on top, well, that is God’s delighted approval, and the smile upon my mother’s face as she served it – a smile which wrapped around her entire head; God’s smile stretches around the whole planet.

O, Lord of Lent, let our faith gel and set and wiggle, let it dance, let it walk with courage, let it climb up to higher ground, and let it build the Kingdom right here on this good earth, and in this good time. Amen.


LENT DAY 39: WHEN HOPE HAPPENS
Hope comes out of nowhere. Hope comes out of everywhere. Hope comes from within. Hope comes from beyond.
Hope is like frost. It dazzles momentarily, and then is gone.

Hope is a shift in perspective. Hope is a change of attitude. Hope is when we see our lives and our world and our Selves in a whole new light. It is brighter, like a thin coating of ice.

Hope is a decision. Hope is a choice. Hope is always an action. Hope does not sit still. Hope must move, and grow, and mature. Hope is the process of becoming exactly who and what God has dreamed for us.

Hope is a way of living. Hope is a habit. Hope is a manner of being. Hope is a posture and a presence. Hope is often witnessed in the human spirit – an aura of a kind.

Hope floats. Hope flies. Hope soars. Hope glides on the wings of Grace. Hope knows exactly where it is going, and also knows it will never fully arrive. This is hope’s miraculous acceptance.

Hope is believing. Believing is seeing. Hope is seeing the best in others. Hope is sensing an opportunity for mercy or love or both. Hope seeks. Hope questions. Hope doubts. But, hope always believes.

We will notice when we are filled with hope. We are commanded to pay attention. Not in a mean or nasty way, but just a gentle poke. We will know because we smile easily, laugh easily, are moved to tears easily, and enjoy the day easily. We are at last…at ease.

Hope is powerful. Hope can heal our spiritual dis-ease. Hope removes the grime of our greed. Hope washes away our laziness. Hope gets us up and ready to face the day. We arise with joy.

Lent is like the Prodigal son. Lent is coming to our senses and heading home. Lent knows because Lent is wise enough to understand that hope has always been our home.

O, Lord of Lent, guide us into hope, and let our hope bring us back home – to Life and our Selves and our God. Amen.


LENT DAY 40: SKIP EASTER
She was so lovely. She could not have been more than five or six, and she was wearing robin’s egg blue, with matching ribbons all about her hair. Her skin was exactly the color of dark chocolate. Her lips well pinked. Her legs as skinny as a grasshopper’s.

She was tugging on her frustrated father’s arm. He was trying to be happy, but happiness should never be this much effort. He was wincing as we all watched him being dragged on to the field where the kids had just found dozens and dozens of pastel colored eggs.

“I want to show you what I can do. I learned how at school. Maya taught me.”

He stopped and smiled and told her to show him. She went skipping down the field in leaps and bounds, and a laugh so merry, it exploded out of her toes.

“I always tripped before, but now I can do it. Maya told me not to watch my feet, but just trust them. Maya told me my feet already know how to skip. Now Daddy, you do it with me.”

You know the story. Never was a man’s face such a paradox of smiling and agony. After a good ten minutes of pure cajoling, he sighed deeply, grabbed his daughter’s hand, and off they went – skipping. The father proved that not all feet know how to skip. He gave new meaning to the concept of clumsy oaf.

As they skipped back, the Easter Egg Hunt crowd began to cheer, and this proud joyous Daddy began to giggle uncontrollably. It was magical. He lifted his little girl up in the air, and twirled her around and around, and kept telling her, “Thank-you, thank-you so much.”

Most of us are reluctant Easter skippers. We resist with all our might, as if we were being dragged off to war. We don’t want to look silly, or stupid, or like a clown – or like a child.

It is Easter’s job to free us to be a blessed child of God. Easter enables us to stop worrying about what the world thinks, and to receive the day as the giggling mass of joy that it is.

Easter is being twirled around and around by a Daddy who loves us... Well, it is a love that could melt the sun.
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O, Lord of Lent, let me take Your strong paw of a hand and skip into Easter. Amen