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Posts Tagged ‘Lent’

Fasting

soul connectionIs not this the kind of fasting I have chosen: to loose the chains of injustice and untie the cords of the yoke, to set the oppressed free and break every yoke? [Isaiah 58:6]

Fasting has been narrowed in recent years to being about the food and beverage consumption: no lunch or no sugar or no alcohol or no carbs (oops, that’s a diet option). And that’s the problem, we live in a dieting world where the giving up of one element or another is this short term option that will give us some relatively immediate results. But I am pretty sure that fasting for God is a different mindset. It’s not even intended that this “giving up” be over the long haul. Not really.

Just because Jesus fasted for forty days doesn’t mean we need to fast from food and drink for the same amount of time. Besides, unless we have the the other disciplines going hand in hand with the fasting, it will be a futile effort. Fasting, in and of itself, is not the point.

It’s the change-up. It’s doing life differently. It’s making room for something else. It’s intentionally making a sacrifice in order to intentionally choose time and energy for God.

I remember trying to explain this process to my kids when they were younger and it never really quite took hold. Generally, they concentrated on those food items they could tolerate being without: ice cream, soda, desserts, pizza (well, no, I don’t think they ever did give up eating pizza for Lent or any other time).

This year, I am tossing in a few sacrificial lambs like sodas and lattes and even Words with Friends, but my sense of them is different. These acts feel inconsequential in the face of what I want this time to be about: a centering inside time, a time to know prayer in a deeper way, an unearthing of my soul from the tangles of my busy life (this is my yoke referenced in Isaiah). Can I slow down enough to do it? Can I open the clock for meditation and silence?

When Jesus met the woman at the well, his disciples were out getting carry out. When they got back, they offered him his share but he didn’t need it. He was full from the discourse and connection of two souls.

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Painting by J.Johansen

“Mourning” by J.Johansen

“Yet even now,” declares the Lord,
“Return to Me with all your heart,
And with fasting, weeping and mourning;
And rend your heart and not your garments.”
Now return to the Lord your God,
For He is gracious and compassionate,
Slow to anger, abounding in lovingkindness
And relenting of evil. [NASB Joel 2:12-13]

Yesterday, I returned from a weekend trip to visit a dying friend and I was humbled at her genuine faith and acceptance of God’s journey for her. She embraces each day. She is present in the moment. She is in the Spirit, having returned with all her heart. She is surrendered to God.

Tonight, at church, Pastor Jess reminded us that surrender means we are “all in.” I believe these forty days will be a true journey of repentance by relenting my willfulness and submitting myself to the Wonder.

I want to give “truth in my inward being” [Ps 51] to others. I want to be known and to know. I want to learn about my “secret heart.” And, I want a clean heart. I confess I have not been focused on these things in the past. But it’s time. Now is the acceptable time [II Corinthians 6:2b].

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Photo by James Thobe

Peace is another word for God as is Light and Love and Jesus. I seek and I find and then I must pursue the next seeking and the next finding.

I Peter 3:11
They must turn from evil and do good; they must seek peace and pursue it. [Psalm 34:14]

Through the course of this Lenten study on seeking, I have discovered that seeking is also asking, it’s an internal process, an acknowledgment of now and a need change, it’s humbling, it’s sowing, it’s trusting in both the process and the results, it’s repentance, it’s persistence and desire (as strong as thirst in the desert), and most of all, it’s learning to recognize the One who is sought. It’s a cycle of findings.

Like any other spiritual practice, it’s a discipline and requires both mindfulness and diffidence. This is a journey for the long haul. This is a lifelong practice.

I lose the sense of process so quickly along the way. My personality is one that prefers projects (beginning, middle, and END). I want to get there. I want to see the finish line so I know I’m going the right way.

But, alas, the walk of faith is not built this way. I know it in my head and yet, I keep trying to change the rules of engagement.

In nature, every season has a new challenge, it’s either too wet or too dry, too cold or too hot. Predators abound as do victims. Disease finds root and spreads. Death appears unyielding and potent, but then new life springs up with even more vigor, like new growth after a devastating forest fire.

Hope and faith are the fuel of seeking.

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Fabric on Wood by Shellie

God is not a moving target. I may feel like it sometimes, but in my heart, I know, it’s not a God-problem, it’s a “me” problem. I am the one fluctuating between sensitivity to God’s presence and isolationism. Solution: grab hold when my pendulum swings in close.

Isaiah 55:6
Seek the LORD while he may be found;
call on him while he is near.

None of us can expect to be on a mountaintop for long; it’s not realistic. No matter how wondrous the climb or ecstatic the view, the air is thin, food and water must be found and consumed, shelter a necessity: life goes on. I can’t expect my times in pure God awareness to be sustained either. This is undoubtedly one of the reasons why ascetics, monks, or hermits disconnect themselves intentionally from the material world, it’s the only way to preserve that connection over a longer period. But even they must address their physical needs eventually. It’s part of being human.

That means, when I do have those moments of closeness to the Holy Spirit, when I do sense God nearby, I must cherish that time. I must be alert: awake! To chart those waters, I must look and listen (with inner eyes and ears). And remember!

This is why I journal, why I blog, to help me remember that moment, that revelation or epiphany. Otherwise, those understandings disappear into the ether of my subconscious. There, but not there, not easily accessible.

Mark the time. Mark the day. Catch the petals in the wind.

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Any change, any redirection, any assessment of the present requires a stop. Plain and simple.

Isaiah 1:16b-17
. . . stop doing wrong. Learn to do right; seek justice. Defend the oppressed. Take up the cause of the fatherless; plead the case of the widow.

When our high energy Boston Terrier, Rocky, is over the top and we are trying to settle him down, it has to be cold turkey. We have to stop throwing the toy or stop engaging him in any way. That little dog is addicted to the high of chase and retrieve. He is not able to stop himself. He would probably keel over in exhaustion before he would stop if we didn’t make him stop.

There are stories in the human world that are not that different. They call it intervention.

So, based on this scripture, here’s the way it might work:

  1. Stop doing what you’re doing.
  2. Learn a better way.
  3. Seek justice.

It makes sense really because the process of learning a different way or better way to act, behave, operate in our world will reveal the injustices that proliferate in our society. The better way is littered with the shredded souls who tried and failed, who went back to the old way, who could not master themselves or the demands of change.

Everyone needs help after the stop. Just the learning alone is treacherous.

My daughter is an ESOL (English as a Second Language) learner. Even after 5 1/2 years in this country, she struggles with the nuance of the language and the vocabulary that is unique to a variety of subjects. But, she is determined all the same. She stopped the downhill pull in high school and decided she would attend community college. But the challenges did not stop. And as she plugs along, she has experienced unfair treatment and mockery by students and teachers alike. We are working together to remedy this, but it’s a slog.

In the bigger picture, Isaiah writes, once the path toward justice is found, then we are strengthened and we can take what we have learned about stopping, learning and seeking justice to reach out to others, those others oppressed by the powerful, the disengaged, the blind proud.

Orphans are at particular risk. Without love, how do they survive? What choices will they make to get what they can get, to show the world, to play the odds.

Jesus said the poor will always be with us [Matthew 26:11], but must the orphans be relegated to this statement as well?

If every family of moderate means or every single adult would adopt just one orphan, what would happen? Start there. We are without excuse in this country. Even if we don’t have the courage or interest in the orphans of the world, shouldn’t we, at the least, adopt our own?

In Old Testament times, the poor of the poor were the widows. So much depended on the willingness of families and children to care for them, but often, they could not. There was no legal provision for them. And although most widows fair much better in our society financially (unless there was nothing to begin with), they are still in need of emotional support. I know I have stumbled here as well, intending to reach out, but getting too caught up in my own world.

Isn’t that the way of it? My own world, my little sphere, my own boundaries.

Isn’t it time to just stop and take a breath, to look around myself, to assess the way, to learn something new?

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I am not poor. Of course, I’m working on it, what with spiraling debt and fruitless planning. But, in the greater scheme of things and the world at large, I am quite flush and comfortable. So, who am I speak about the promises of God for the poor?

Psalm 69:30, 32
I will praise God’s name in song and glorify him with thanksgiving. . . . The poor will see and be glad — you who seek God, may your hearts live!

And yet, promises and precedents do exist.

In the time of Christ, the poor saw Him first and recognized God in Him. The poor followed. The poor believed. The poor sustained the faith. And the rich worried.

But God’s empowerment is not a change of social status. In all the acts that Jesus did for the poor, he never made anyone richer. He healed, he fed, he taught. He gave hope where no hope had been. He gave strength to the weak. He spoke to the wealth within each and every human being. He loved.

One of the essentials to surviving and perhaps overcoming one’s circumstances is trusting God’s providence in the midst of difficulty. It’s living through this day because the next day is in God’s hands and anything can happen. This is the significance of praise: it’s trust.

Back in 1970, Merlin R. Carothers wrote a book, From Prison to Praise, that is still in print today and continues to change lives. A lot of us tried his formula but it always felt a little forced to me. I felt like I had to manipulate my circumstances to find something I could praise God for in the midst of them, like having a flat tire on the freeway, but “praise God,” a policeman stopped. And so forth. I’m not saying this way of looking for the silver lining in life events doesn’t have value, it does, but today, I’m thinking differently.

Instead, as in the case of the poor whose circumstances may not be dramatically changed from day to day, it’s trusting God in the midst of the worst. God is sovereign whether I can see it, feel it, or touch it.

Perhaps it’s too hard to say, I praise God in this nightmare, then say instead, “I trust God.” They are the same.

It’s not up to me to figure out which part of this crisis can be turned for good or how God will manifest nor do I need to be a Pollyanna . Instead, it is the simplicity of “I am here, God is here, I am here with God” [Brian McLaren, Naked Spirituality: a life with God in 12 simple words].

If it is hard for me to maintain a place of trust in God, how much more for those in crisis every day?

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Meandering Passage: Light Ahead

After all, peace is fleeting, fragile and easily broken. Peace is readily distracted. Peace is coy, difficult to find and keep. And worst of all, peace is relative to our perceptions and experience. Peace is not simply the absence of violence. Peace is intentional.

Psalm 34:12, 14
Whoever of you loves life and desires to see many good days, . . . Turn from evil and do good; seek peace and pursue it.

Before I can even consider the pursuit of peace, I must first turn from evil and do good. In other words, peace is impossible in the midst of evil-doing: lying, cheating, gossiping, coveting, envying, gluttony, resenting and hating, just to name a few. And then there are the more obvious crimes of evil among peoples and nations: murder, adultery, stealing, bribery, destruction, uncontrolled ambition.

How badly do I want peace? Am I willing to turn away from bad habits in the name of peace? Or, is it just a kind of talk, a warm fuzzy type of wishful thinking. Is it like hoping to win the lottery. Am I waiting for some outside force to give me the desire to change? If I just had this or that, then I could change. If my husband was better, different, stronger, more loving and attentive, more anything, then I can change? If my children were more obedient, considerate, thoughtful, reliable, or successful in school, then I can change? If I had a better job and a housekeeper, a cook and a complete wardrobe, then I can change?

Then I can exercise every day and stop eating emotionally, then I can stop hiding my “white lies,” then I can stop judging and gossiping, then I can stop envying my contemporaries for their apparent successes. Then…. then…. then?

Here’s the most likely solution. It’s not all or nothing. It’s not turning away from the evils and mistakes all at once. It’s in baby steps. And for each turning, there is a puzzle piece to the mystery of peace. Each time, I choose to walk away from the gravitational pull of sin (error, offense, pride), the path to peace is lit up just a little more.

Do I love life? Real life. Expansive, balanced, thrumming life? Or, have I settled for less?

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