I got my Dad’s church newsletter in the mail this week. I don’t know why I keep receiving it, but there it was. So I read it.
“The Pastor’s Corner” article made me cringe. Following are two excerpts.
“I believe the next big spiritual event that is coming to the world is the rapture. By rapture I mean the instant removal of all TRUE Christians to Heaven by the Lord. . .”
“For many years I have believed that the Rapture would happen on an EASTER SUNDAY. Jesus body rose from the grave on Easter Sunday. . .what better day for the Lord to raise the bodies of dead followers of Jesus? To me there is no better day! And as those bodies are rising from the grave, we living followers of Jesus will be caught up together with them (Raptured) to meet our Lord in the air. . .Oh Happy Day! Friends, it could happen this Easter Sunday, March 23rd, and I am praying that it will. Question: Are YOU going with US?”
This prevailing theology of the End Times comes primarily from this passage from I Thessalonians 4 “13But we do not want you to be uninformed, brothers and sisters, about those who have died, so that you may not grieve as others do who have no hope. 14For since we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so, through Jesus, God will bring with him those who have died. 15For this we declare to you by the word of the Lord, that we who are alive, who are left until the coming of the Lord, will by no means precede those who have died. 16For the Lord himself, with a cry of command, with the archangel’s call and with the sound of God’s trumpet, will descend from heaven, and the dead in Christ will rise first. 17Then we who are alive, who are left, will be caught up in the clouds together with them to meet the Lord in the air; and so we will be with the Lord forever.”
What my father wrote in his article struck me as flawed on so many levels. Besides the immediate arrogance (“Are YOU going with US?”) there is a sense of fear and doom brought on by this idea about God and the end of the world that has been mainstreamed by the Left Behind series of books.
What irritates me so much about this theology is that the apocalyptic texts in the Bible were originally written to encourage those who had been marginalized to meet their stress and fear with confidence – not with panic. The writings were meant to bring about a sense of confidence that God was working things out with peace, joy and justice. Instead, what the fundamentalist churches are doing is using every human being’s fear of being excluded to bring about the change THEY want to see.
Whenever I am confronted by this kind of warped theological argument I take it right to the standard of the work that the Holy Spirit does within each believer. “But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control.” (Galatians 5:22-23) When a way of talking and teaching about God doesn’t engender these characteristics, I’m very, very careful.
These theologies espoused by my father and so many fundamentalist churches just don’t reflect the God I’ve come to know.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Snow Day!
A February gift when we woke up this morning! About six inches so far. . .and another six to go!
It's a day for Lentil Soup and cornbread.
3 slices bacon, cut into small pieces
1 onion, minced
2 carrots, peeled and chopped
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 can diced tomatoes
1 bay leaf
1 t. fresh thyme, minced
1 cup lentils
1 t. salt
freshly ground black pepper
1/2 cup dry, white wine
5 cups chicken broth
1 1/2 cups water
1 1/2 t. balsamic vinegar
5 oz. baby spinach
Fry the bacon in a large stockpot. Add onions and carrots, cooking until they are soft. Add garlic and cook 30 seconds, until fragrant. Stir in tomatoes, bay leaf, and thyme. Cook 30 seconds until fragrant. Stir in lentils, salt and pepper. Cover. Reduce heat to medium and cook until lentils are darkened, about 8-10 minutes. (This step keeps the lentils from falling apart in the soup.) Uncover. Increase the heat to high and add the wine to deglaze the pan. Bring to simmer. Add chicken broth and water. Bring to boil before covering and reducing heat to low. Simmer until lentils are soft, 30 - 35 minutes. Discard bay leaf. Puree 3 cups of soup in blender until smooth and return to pot. Stir in vinegar and heat soup until hot, about 5 minutes. Stir in baby spinach and heat, stirring frequently, until the spinach wilts.
It's a day for Lentil Soup and cornbread.
3 slices bacon, cut into small pieces
1 onion, minced
2 carrots, peeled and chopped
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 can diced tomatoes
1 bay leaf
1 t. fresh thyme, minced
1 cup lentils
1 t. salt
freshly ground black pepper
1/2 cup dry, white wine
5 cups chicken broth
1 1/2 cups water
1 1/2 t. balsamic vinegar
5 oz. baby spinach
Fry the bacon in a large stockpot. Add onions and carrots, cooking until they are soft. Add garlic and cook 30 seconds, until fragrant. Stir in tomatoes, bay leaf, and thyme. Cook 30 seconds until fragrant. Stir in lentils, salt and pepper. Cover. Reduce heat to medium and cook until lentils are darkened, about 8-10 minutes. (This step keeps the lentils from falling apart in the soup.) Uncover. Increase the heat to high and add the wine to deglaze the pan. Bring to simmer. Add chicken broth and water. Bring to boil before covering and reducing heat to low. Simmer until lentils are soft, 30 - 35 minutes. Discard bay leaf. Puree 3 cups of soup in blender until smooth and return to pot. Stir in vinegar and heat soup until hot, about 5 minutes. Stir in baby spinach and heat, stirring frequently, until the spinach wilts.
Monday, February 25, 2008
Rock the House
I can’t dance. I’ve said it before, and it’s still true. It’s not that I don’t want to. It’s that I just can’t let myself.
But I went to a dance on Saturday night. Ali and I took her 7 year old nephew Brett. It was a dance for the clients of Blanchard Valley Center. Most of the people who were there have a variety of mental retardation or developmental disability issues.
The evening was a blast.
Since Ali is a Service and Support Administrator for the Center I had heard about some of her clients. It was my first time to meet them. They were all dressed to the nines in their best Valentine outfits. For a $6 ticket we were treated to a meal of salad, spaghetti with meat sauce, garlic bread and cupcakes. The dance was DJ’d by Charlie Brown.
Charlie Brown is an incredible DJ. He not only spun music; he taught dances, he mixed and mingled; he cleared tables after dinner and made everyone feel comfortable and at home. I heard stories of other DJ’s who had worked other BVC dances who were fussy, demanding and arrogant. Not Charlie.
It would be an understatement to say that this population of folks LOVES to dance! Charlie led everyone in the Electric Slide, the Cha-Cha, the Macarena, YMCA, the Chicken Dance, and the Hokey Pokey – all in the first half an hour after dinner!
The most amazing thing about this population of people is the complete lack of inhibition on their part. If dancing looks like fun then JUST DO IT! If it’s fun, keep doing it! If not, that’s OK too. If the music tells you that it would be a good idea to get down on all fours and twist, then do it! It’s all good!
People with mental retardation also spend almost no time judging each other. No one ridiculed or laughed at by anyone else for a particular form of self-expression. There was lots of laughter – but none of it was directed AT another person. It was all WITH others.
Brett was a little shy at first, but soon he was out there Hokey-Pokey’ing with the best of them.
It was a fun night all around. We stayed about an hour before heading out. It was 8:00 p.m. when we left. There were busses still arriving, dropping off those in wheelchairs and in need of even more assistance.
It’s my guess that the house rocked until at least 11:00.
But I went to a dance on Saturday night. Ali and I took her 7 year old nephew Brett. It was a dance for the clients of Blanchard Valley Center. Most of the people who were there have a variety of mental retardation or developmental disability issues.
The evening was a blast.
Since Ali is a Service and Support Administrator for the Center I had heard about some of her clients. It was my first time to meet them. They were all dressed to the nines in their best Valentine outfits. For a $6 ticket we were treated to a meal of salad, spaghetti with meat sauce, garlic bread and cupcakes. The dance was DJ’d by Charlie Brown.
Charlie Brown is an incredible DJ. He not only spun music; he taught dances, he mixed and mingled; he cleared tables after dinner and made everyone feel comfortable and at home. I heard stories of other DJ’s who had worked other BVC dances who were fussy, demanding and arrogant. Not Charlie.
It would be an understatement to say that this population of folks LOVES to dance! Charlie led everyone in the Electric Slide, the Cha-Cha, the Macarena, YMCA, the Chicken Dance, and the Hokey Pokey – all in the first half an hour after dinner!
The most amazing thing about this population of people is the complete lack of inhibition on their part. If dancing looks like fun then JUST DO IT! If it’s fun, keep doing it! If not, that’s OK too. If the music tells you that it would be a good idea to get down on all fours and twist, then do it! It’s all good!
People with mental retardation also spend almost no time judging each other. No one ridiculed or laughed at by anyone else for a particular form of self-expression. There was lots of laughter – but none of it was directed AT another person. It was all WITH others.
Brett was a little shy at first, but soon he was out there Hokey-Pokey’ing with the best of them.
It was a fun night all around. We stayed about an hour before heading out. It was 8:00 p.m. when we left. There were busses still arriving, dropping off those in wheelchairs and in need of even more assistance.
It’s my guess that the house rocked until at least 11:00.
Friday, February 22, 2008
Out My Window This Morning
February.
Expectation – That on the horizon looms beach sand, warm breezes, bicycles, green grass.
Reality – Snow. Freeze. Sun. Melt. Rain. Freeze. Snow. Sleet. Melt…repeat!!!!!
Spring is too far off to ponder and winter is too long to believe.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
I Had ANOTHER Dream
See this first.
It was a Saturday afternoon and Brooke Shields was having lunch at my house. We were having turkey sandwiches. She was sitting at the end of the table, eating her turkey with Swiss on whole wheat, looking quite glamorous when she looked up and said, "This turkey tastes old."
Perhaps all dreams are bullshit.
It was a Saturday afternoon and Brooke Shields was having lunch at my house. We were having turkey sandwiches. She was sitting at the end of the table, eating her turkey with Swiss on whole wheat, looking quite glamorous when she looked up and said, "This turkey tastes old."
Perhaps all dreams are bullshit.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
February Funk
February is my least favorite month of the year. I'm prone to the blues and this year is no exception. I thought that a little list of things I like about February might help.
1. I like that today contains four more minutes of sunlight than yesterday.
2. Soup in February tastes better than any other month of the year.
3. Making bread in February makes me feel better. Here's a quick recipe for the bread machine that smells absolutely wonderful when you walk in the door after work!
• 1 1/4 cups water
• 2 T honey
• 2 T butter
• 1 t. salt
• 2 cups white flour
• 1 cup whole wheat flour
• 1/2 cup rolled oats
• 1/2 cup brown sugar
• 1 t. cinnamon
• packet of active, dry yeast
Set the machine for 1.5 pound loaf, basic setting with medium crust.
4. It's interesting that one day in Ohio it can be 50 in February and the next day it's 10 below. I can't say I love it, but at least it's interesting!
5. I like that there's still the possibility of a Level Three snow emergency day in February that gives everyone the day off!
6. I'm looking forward to going to a Valentine Dance with a 7 year old on Saturday.
7. Ali and I embarked on a long search for Republic of Tea - Ginger Peach that was finally successful! We bought all they had!
8. For me, in February, it's the little things that have to matter.
"You say grace before meals. All right. But I say grace before the concert and the opera, and grace before the play and pantomime, and grace before I open a book, and grace before sketching, painting, swimming, fencing, boxing, walking, playing, dancing and grace before I dip the pen in the ink." ~ G.K. Chesterton
1. I like that today contains four more minutes of sunlight than yesterday.
2. Soup in February tastes better than any other month of the year.
3. Making bread in February makes me feel better. Here's a quick recipe for the bread machine that smells absolutely wonderful when you walk in the door after work!
• 1 1/4 cups water
• 2 T honey
• 2 T butter
• 1 t. salt
• 2 cups white flour
• 1 cup whole wheat flour
• 1/2 cup rolled oats
• 1/2 cup brown sugar
• 1 t. cinnamon
• packet of active, dry yeast
Set the machine for 1.5 pound loaf, basic setting with medium crust.
4. It's interesting that one day in Ohio it can be 50 in February and the next day it's 10 below. I can't say I love it, but at least it's interesting!
5. I like that there's still the possibility of a Level Three snow emergency day in February that gives everyone the day off!
6. I'm looking forward to going to a Valentine Dance with a 7 year old on Saturday.
7. Ali and I embarked on a long search for Republic of Tea - Ginger Peach that was finally successful! We bought all they had!
8. For me, in February, it's the little things that have to matter.
"You say grace before meals. All right. But I say grace before the concert and the opera, and grace before the play and pantomime, and grace before I open a book, and grace before sketching, painting, swimming, fencing, boxing, walking, playing, dancing and grace before I dip the pen in the ink." ~ G.K. Chesterton
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
I Had A Dream
Last night I had a dream in which I was standing in the pulpit, delivering a sermon that I believed with all my heart. There’s no feeling in the world that comes close to what it feels like to do something that brings you joy. The feeling of following your calling is as close to bliss as I believe a human being can get. Even after nine months, I still dream about preaching.
I thought it would go away, but in these dreams I can still experience what it feels like to be some kind of conduit through which God ideas become human words. I can’t really explain it very well. It’s just a feeling that I deeply, deeply miss.
These dreams have caused me to think about the kinds of gifts and talents that have to be lived out in specific contexts and circumstances in order to make any sense. For example, a boxer who never has the opportunity to use his skill in the proper context – the boxing ring – is really just a guy who goes around punching people in the face.
My fear is that a preacher who never uses his or her gifts in the proper venue just becomes an outspoken, opinionated, know-it-all that no one really wants to be around.
I feel stuck. I have a gift I can’t use that won’t leave me alone. So, I started thinking outside the box. The closest I can come to a preacher who isn’t really a preacher is Barack Obama.
When he says things like, “Focusing your life solely on making a buck shows a certain poverty of ambition. It asks too little of yourself. Because it's only when you hitch your wagon to something larger than yourself that you realize your true potential,” or “We are the change we have been waiting for,” I am challenged and moved in a way that only a really good sermon can change me.
Maybe my future is in politics.
You can stop laughing now. . .
I thought it would go away, but in these dreams I can still experience what it feels like to be some kind of conduit through which God ideas become human words. I can’t really explain it very well. It’s just a feeling that I deeply, deeply miss.
These dreams have caused me to think about the kinds of gifts and talents that have to be lived out in specific contexts and circumstances in order to make any sense. For example, a boxer who never has the opportunity to use his skill in the proper context – the boxing ring – is really just a guy who goes around punching people in the face.
My fear is that a preacher who never uses his or her gifts in the proper venue just becomes an outspoken, opinionated, know-it-all that no one really wants to be around.
I feel stuck. I have a gift I can’t use that won’t leave me alone. So, I started thinking outside the box. The closest I can come to a preacher who isn’t really a preacher is Barack Obama.
When he says things like, “Focusing your life solely on making a buck shows a certain poverty of ambition. It asks too little of yourself. Because it's only when you hitch your wagon to something larger than yourself that you realize your true potential,” or “We are the change we have been waiting for,” I am challenged and moved in a way that only a really good sermon can change me.
Maybe my future is in politics.
You can stop laughing now. . .
Friday, February 15, 2008
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
To Know or Not to Know?
Ali has a new hobby. She's really getting into geneology. In the evenings she's hunched over the computer with her books and notebooks spread all over the couch. For the most part it's a pretty quiet new pastime. Occasionally she'll scare the crap out of me by yelling something like, "According to his World War 1 draft registration card, my great-great grampa was stout! But he had all his fingers!"
There is just no end to what you can find out about folks these days. . .
It got me thinkin. There were always some secrets in my house when I was a kid. Like, why my parents didn't EVER celebrate their anniversary. When asked, they would be very vague and then change the subject. Once, when I was in high school I looked my father in the eye and flat out asked if my mother was pregnant with me when they got married. He looked straight at me and said no.
I didn't believe him.
So I asked his brother. My uncle Greg said that they eloped and got married in Tennessee. And yes, I was there.
My aunt Sharon is also very much into geneology. She said that she had asked my parents the same question and had gotten two different answers – that they were either married in September of 1963 or 64. I was born in March of 1965.
So, my question is this – If Ali can find out which relatives had all their digits, should I try and find my parents official marriage license? Or should I leave well enough alone? Leave me a a comment with your thoughts!
There is just no end to what you can find out about folks these days. . .
It got me thinkin. There were always some secrets in my house when I was a kid. Like, why my parents didn't EVER celebrate their anniversary. When asked, they would be very vague and then change the subject. Once, when I was in high school I looked my father in the eye and flat out asked if my mother was pregnant with me when they got married. He looked straight at me and said no.
I didn't believe him.
So I asked his brother. My uncle Greg said that they eloped and got married in Tennessee. And yes, I was there.
My aunt Sharon is also very much into geneology. She said that she had asked my parents the same question and had gotten two different answers – that they were either married in September of 1963 or 64. I was born in March of 1965.
So, my question is this – If Ali can find out which relatives had all their digits, should I try and find my parents official marriage license? Or should I leave well enough alone? Leave me a a comment with your thoughts!
Monday, February 11, 2008
A Thought for Today
Today I’ve been thinking about this wildly paraphrased quote from Thomas à Kempis. I took it from his classic “The Imitation of Christ,” written well over 500 years ago, but full of wisdom and a very gentle spirit of love.
“Don’t be angry that you can’t make others what YOU want them to be. . .you can’t even make YOURSELF what you want to be!”
All of us are delicate. We’ve just perfected our masks.
“Don’t be angry that you can’t make others what YOU want them to be. . .you can’t even make YOURSELF what you want to be!”
All of us are delicate. We’ve just perfected our masks.
Friday, February 08, 2008
Crash
It’s about race. It’s about tolerance. It’s about shared humanity.
It’s about how our human assumptions about one another prevent us from seeing the actual people standing right in front of us.
It’s about the soul depleting pride that keeps us from stepping outside of ourselves on a regular basis to breathe some air that is fresh and new.
“Moving at the speed of life, we are bound to collide with each other.”
Rent it.
First Disillusionment
My faith heritage comes entirely from the Southern Baptist Church. Where I grew up in Kentucky that was pronounced “babdist” and nearly everyone I knew attended some incarnation of the Babdist church.
All during elementary school I knew a girl named Andrea who I envied. She had curly hair that hung in perfect ringlets. I never remember Andrea coming to school in jeans. It seemed that she wore a dress to school every day. Often they were little pinafore dresses. My favorite ones were plaid. She had patent-leather Mary Janes that she wore with short white socks that had ruffles around the top.
I thought Andrea was perfect.
My admiration of Andrea reached its peak when we were both in the fifth grade. She rode my bus and when we would drop her off at the end of her very long driveway, you could see their beautiful house at the top of the rolling Kentucky farm where they lived. It was an immaculately maintained home – massive and historical.
Andrea had a lot of brothers and sisters. She was the youngest and I always wondered if she was lonely in that huge house with no one her age to play with.
I never really talked to Andrea all that much. It wasn’t that I was too shy or that I didn’t WANT to talk to her. It was that my church had slyly implanted feelings of fear about Andrea into my head. Mixed with those low-grade fears were mild feelings of moral superiority and a breezy attitude that I had the upper hand in all things God related.
Andrea’s family was Catholic.
Looking back, my childhood envy of everything that was Andrea, colliding with my inbred fear of all things Catholic, began my first disillusionment with evangelical Christianity.
I had been taught that God wanted everyone to become a Christian. Every sermon had been peppered with phrases like “accept Jesus Christ as your personal Lord and Savior,” “invite Jesus into your heart” and “get right with God.”
I had also been taught that if a person didn’t become a Christian during his or her brief stint at life that he or she had bought a one-way ticket to hell. This wasn’t a concept to be debated or questioned. It was a literal place where those too stubborn (or too stupid was always the implication) would roast for eternity.
And my church had been clear that Catholics were on the first train car, in the first-class compartment on the express train to H E double toothpicks.
Let me be clear about how confusing and tumultuous this felt for me. The people at my church were good people. They hugged me and loved me and encouraged me. They praised my successes and spurred me on when I could do better. They taught me Bible stories and songs in Sunday School and helped me make shoebox dioramas of missionary heroes in GA’s on Wednesday nights. (GA’s were “Girls in Action.” The male version were RA’s, “Royal Ambassadors.” Yes, they were separate classes. No, I won’t think about the sexist bullshit right now. . .) They taught me that God loved everyone – if they would just get saved.
They also taught me that it was my job to tell the people I knew that Jesus had died for their sins and that they could go to heaven too if they would just pray a simple little prayer with me. It was my job to lead people to the Lord and I better get right on with it – because there were heathens living all over the place. And there were Catholics on my bus.
Imagine how this felt to a sensitive, thoughtful, young girl. I truly wanted to do the right thing. I wanted to make Jesus smile and my church love me more. I wanted to please my parents and my teachers. I truly wanted Andrea to go to heaven too.
As I turned out, I never did “witness” to Andrea. Perhaps it was that I was too afraid. (Jesus is frowning as I write this even now.) Maybe I didn’t confront her because my Mother told me that I could never be friends with her – and I never was. (Jesus is still frowning.)
In my heart of hearts however, I know that I never witnessed to Andrea because I was just beginning to understand that everything wasn't as black and white as my church had taught. (A slow smile spreads over Jesus’ face as he quickly shoots me a wink and a knowing nod.)
This epiphany is what keeps me searching for the face of God – to this very day.
Georgetown Baptist Church – where I was a G.A. and learned the value of all things potluck!
All during elementary school I knew a girl named Andrea who I envied. She had curly hair that hung in perfect ringlets. I never remember Andrea coming to school in jeans. It seemed that she wore a dress to school every day. Often they were little pinafore dresses. My favorite ones were plaid. She had patent-leather Mary Janes that she wore with short white socks that had ruffles around the top.
I thought Andrea was perfect.
My admiration of Andrea reached its peak when we were both in the fifth grade. She rode my bus and when we would drop her off at the end of her very long driveway, you could see their beautiful house at the top of the rolling Kentucky farm where they lived. It was an immaculately maintained home – massive and historical.
Andrea had a lot of brothers and sisters. She was the youngest and I always wondered if she was lonely in that huge house with no one her age to play with.
I never really talked to Andrea all that much. It wasn’t that I was too shy or that I didn’t WANT to talk to her. It was that my church had slyly implanted feelings of fear about Andrea into my head. Mixed with those low-grade fears were mild feelings of moral superiority and a breezy attitude that I had the upper hand in all things God related.
Andrea’s family was Catholic.
Looking back, my childhood envy of everything that was Andrea, colliding with my inbred fear of all things Catholic, began my first disillusionment with evangelical Christianity.
I had been taught that God wanted everyone to become a Christian. Every sermon had been peppered with phrases like “accept Jesus Christ as your personal Lord and Savior,” “invite Jesus into your heart” and “get right with God.”
I had also been taught that if a person didn’t become a Christian during his or her brief stint at life that he or she had bought a one-way ticket to hell. This wasn’t a concept to be debated or questioned. It was a literal place where those too stubborn (or too stupid was always the implication) would roast for eternity.
And my church had been clear that Catholics were on the first train car, in the first-class compartment on the express train to H E double toothpicks.
Let me be clear about how confusing and tumultuous this felt for me. The people at my church were good people. They hugged me and loved me and encouraged me. They praised my successes and spurred me on when I could do better. They taught me Bible stories and songs in Sunday School and helped me make shoebox dioramas of missionary heroes in GA’s on Wednesday nights. (GA’s were “Girls in Action.” The male version were RA’s, “Royal Ambassadors.” Yes, they were separate classes. No, I won’t think about the sexist bullshit right now. . .) They taught me that God loved everyone – if they would just get saved.
They also taught me that it was my job to tell the people I knew that Jesus had died for their sins and that they could go to heaven too if they would just pray a simple little prayer with me. It was my job to lead people to the Lord and I better get right on with it – because there were heathens living all over the place. And there were Catholics on my bus.
Imagine how this felt to a sensitive, thoughtful, young girl. I truly wanted to do the right thing. I wanted to make Jesus smile and my church love me more. I wanted to please my parents and my teachers. I truly wanted Andrea to go to heaven too.
As I turned out, I never did “witness” to Andrea. Perhaps it was that I was too afraid. (Jesus is frowning as I write this even now.) Maybe I didn’t confront her because my Mother told me that I could never be friends with her – and I never was. (Jesus is still frowning.)
In my heart of hearts however, I know that I never witnessed to Andrea because I was just beginning to understand that everything wasn't as black and white as my church had taught. (A slow smile spreads over Jesus’ face as he quickly shoots me a wink and a knowing nod.)
This epiphany is what keeps me searching for the face of God – to this very day.
Georgetown Baptist Church – where I was a G.A. and learned the value of all things potluck!
Wednesday, February 06, 2008
Ash Wednesday and Renovaré
Today is Ash Wednesday and this morning I walked the Chartres labyrinth.
There are several concepts to contemplate as you walk a labyrinth.
• As you slowly mover from the outside toward the center, RELEASE whatever it is that is burdening your soul.
• Once you reach the center of the labyrinth, sit for a little while and RECEIVE blessing.
• Finally, RETURN by same path from which you first entered – but now RESTORED and RECONCILED.
It’s a twisted path towards wholeness.
Lent, and particularly Ash Wednesday, has always been my favorite season of the church. I love the quiet introspection that is demanded during this time. To me, Lent is all about moving from the ashes that symbolize my human weaknesses and failures into a new life on Resurrection morning.
This year I find that pull quite strong.
This past year has been one of throbbing hurt on many levels, in many ways, for many people. I feel as though this past year has been my walking journey into the heart of the labyrinth. It’s time for release. I pray that this 40 day journey of Lent will afford me the space to sit for a little while. I thirst for blessing. My goal for Resurrection morning is to continue to walk that twisted path towards wholeness, but to do it in the spirit of RENOVARÉ – renewed, restored and refreshed.
There are several concepts to contemplate as you walk a labyrinth.
• As you slowly mover from the outside toward the center, RELEASE whatever it is that is burdening your soul.
• Once you reach the center of the labyrinth, sit for a little while and RECEIVE blessing.
• Finally, RETURN by same path from which you first entered – but now RESTORED and RECONCILED.
It’s a twisted path towards wholeness.
Lent, and particularly Ash Wednesday, has always been my favorite season of the church. I love the quiet introspection that is demanded during this time. To me, Lent is all about moving from the ashes that symbolize my human weaknesses and failures into a new life on Resurrection morning.
This year I find that pull quite strong.
This past year has been one of throbbing hurt on many levels, in many ways, for many people. I feel as though this past year has been my walking journey into the heart of the labyrinth. It’s time for release. I pray that this 40 day journey of Lent will afford me the space to sit for a little while. I thirst for blessing. My goal for Resurrection morning is to continue to walk that twisted path towards wholeness, but to do it in the spirit of RENOVARÉ – renewed, restored and refreshed.
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