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Prayer As Lent Begins
by Angier Brock
Lent comes around again this week. Seems like it was just here, but no, that was the 2011 version. This Wednesday is Ash Wednesday 2012, the holy day that marks the start of Lent. The liturgical season of prayer, fasting, penance, reflection, and almsgiving is once more with us.
Some years I have greeted Lent with open arms, eager to use its various practices to seek a closer connection with God or to deepen my relationship with the Jesus of the Gospels. Other years, I haven’t felt quite so enthusiastic about being penitential, let alone about undertaking a particular spiritual discipline, increasing my charitable giving, or relinquishing a specific habit or luxury for the forty requisite days. This year I confess that I have been more in the latter frame of mind than the former. So what’s a would-be pilgrim to do?
Because I love language, I turn to etymology. My dictionary reminds me that the word “Lent” comes into English by way of the German and Dutch words for spring—“Lenz” and “lente,” respectively—both of which derive from an Indo-European word root (“del-”) that means “long” (in the sense of length). The liturgical season of Lent thereby references the geo-physical lengthening of days here in the northern hemisphere.
Several other words can be traced back to the same root, making them linguistic kissing cousins of Lent. Two of them— “long” (in its other sense of yearning or having a great desire for something) and “linger”—are words I find particularly rich and evocative. I begin to reconsider the forty days of Lent as a time during which I am called to become more fully aware of my deepest longing and to think of Lenten practices as ways of lingering with that longing.
Somehow that simple shift has melted my resistance to embracing Lent this year. As I write this, I have not as yet committed myself to a particular practice, but I feel more open to the possibilities. That alone seems a grace, and one which leads me to this prayer as Lent begins: That through my longing—and my willingness to linger in this liturgical season—I may move from grace to grace, growing in the love of God and in the habit of letting that love reach through me out into the rest of the world.
No matter what else happens during this time, the forty days of Lent will lead us through the last few weeks of winter and into the first few weeks of spring. No matter how you choose to observe—or not observe—Lent this year, may you too be touched by the grace and generosity of the season.
Taking Laughter Seriously
by Doug Wysockey-Johnson
Who do you laugh with easily? It might be worth spending more time with that person.
It is middle of winter here in northern New England. We could all use a little playfulness about now. That is my very unscientific observation from looking around. But it turns out that there is some data to back it up.
Researchers at the University of Maryland School of Medicine in Baltimore have shown for the first time that laughter is linked to healthy function of blood vessels. They assert that laughter appears to cause the tissue that forms the inner lining of blood vessels to expand. This helps increase blood flow, which has a healthy effect on your arteries and reduces your risk of cardiovascular disease. Their conclusion? “We recommend you try to laugh on a regular basis.” (The Creation Health Breakthrough, by Monica Reed, M.D)
Playfulness is an important part of relationships as well. One study looked at couples that had been married between 15 and 61 years who said they were happy in their relationship. Of those interviewed, an overwhelming majority agreed on the importance of play and humor in their relationship. (The Play Solution: How to Put the Fun and Excitement Back into Your Relationship, by Jeanette C. Lauer and Robert Lauer)
Forced laughter or playfulness usually backfires, at least for me. If someone tells me that they want to tell me a joke, I usually think, “This is not going to be funny, but I am going to feel pressure to laugh.” By and large, jokes don’t make me laugh.
But there are certain people who are gift to me because of the way they evoke my laughter. And it is worth thinking about ways that my wife and can play together.
Krister Stendahl was the archbishop of Stockholm for many years. Before that, he taught at Harvard Divinity School (not a very playful place). In his 1984 Commencement Address, he said “Joy is closer to God than seriousness. Why? Because when I am serious I tend to be self centered, but when I am joyful I tend to forget myself.”
Back to the original question: With whom do you laugh easily? Who helps you play? Might want to spend more time with them.
Harmony in Winter
by Tom Pappas
My town of Lincoln Nebraska had the fourth biggest snow in a 24 hour period in its history last Friday night and Saturday. It was a beauty. While it measured 11.1 inches it had to weigh 11 pounds per inch. Literally a wet blanket. Lots of sagging tree branches. Lots of broken limbs. Lots of people without electricity. The city workers did a magnificent job digging us out.
I had just brought my snow blower back from being serviced and I was ready. Thankfully my neighbor did our long driveway with his tractor because frankly, I’m getting old.
Less than a week before this storm a local nursery notified its email list that our dry winter was stressing the evergreens and it was advisable to get out hoses and sprinklers or expect damage to, or possibly loss of these trees. I consider it a royal pain to put away hoses when it’s warm and they’re flexible, but since we have lots of spruce and pines I got out there and watered a whole day.
One of my deep held beliefs is that we live here on this glorious planet because of God’s goodness and grace. It’s a gift and a wonderful puzzle to piece together the clues about how to be in harmony with God’s good creation.
I like it that we can cool and dehumidify our homes in the summer and keep ourselves warm in the winter. I don’t like it that bedbugs are making an impact on dorm life at our University. But it all is part of the package which is this puzzle of life. It’s fun and it’s scary at times. My neighbors and I live under massive trees that could have collapsed on our homes under the weight of the recent snow. The same trees I love and enjoy are threats to my safety and economic well-being.
God continues to be beyond my comprehension. As was explained to Lucy about Aslan. [my paraphrase] “He’s a lion, of course he’s not safe, but he’s good.”
BTW: This site was emailed to me in real time as I was writing this blog: Winter Watering
The Shortest Month
by Terry & Tracy Moore
Given that February is the shortest month of the year; I find there are a number of things to write about. Valentine’s Day is of course the standard, and then this year is leap year which adds an extra day to the month. There is also, at least here in the northeast, Groundhog Day, which is also Candlemas Day and then I came across the reminder that there is also the feast day (or month if you live in Ireland) of St. Brigid.
In doing some research on St. Valentine I found there are actually 14 of them, although only one is credited with having anything to do with the holiday as we know it. Turns out there is really very little information about him, the main point being he was thought to have been martyred by Emperor Claudius III on February 14, 269AD, the same day that had been devoted to love lotteries in the roman Empire. There are legends stating that he was a kind and generous man, helping out the poor and needy and also marrying young Christians, against the orders of the emperor, who had decided that young men going into the military were more willing to do so if they did not have a wife, girlfriend, and children. It was his act of marrying them that caused him to be beheaded.
Groundhog Day has nothing to do with Love, at least that I can find. Leap year is the time when a woman can propose marriage to a man (based on an old Scottish legend). Candlemas is a Christian holiday celebrated by the Roman Catholic and Episcopal Church. On this day, people bring candles to church to have them blessed, either for use at home or as a donation to the church for use during the coming year.
St. Brigid, I believe, has much to do with the kind of Love we refer to as Agape, the Love Jesus shared with all. Her life stands as an example of how to live out the command to “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and all your mind and all your soul and to Love your neighbor as yourself.” I recently read an account of a woman on pilgrimage to St. Brigid’s well in Kildare Ireland. She tells of 5 story prayers that were told of how Brigid was: a woman of the land; a peace-maker; a friend of the poor; a woman of the hearth; and a woman of contemplation. She came from a wealthy family and there is a story of how her father gave her a horse to ride and she immediately gave it away to a farmer she met on the road. She is said to have created a cross from some rushes on the floor of a house and one can find them today in stores which carry Irish merchandise. They are meant to hang over your entry door as protection from evil and to prevent fires. We have friend who have one hanging over their front door as a sign of welcome and peace.
May you find time to share your presence with loved ones this month. May you find time for some silence and solitude, as you listen for what God has planned for you as Springtime approaches. May the seeds of Love fill your hearts to overflowing.
Prayer After Thinking About Bees
by Angier Brock
My church is considering keeping bees. Several dozen parishioners of all ages gathered last Friday night to watch a movie about bees, and later this week there will be a follow-up meeting where those who are interested will learn more and begin to discern whether some in our parish, either collectively or individually, have a call to beekeeping.
I am intrigued. I have been hearing for several years about “colony collapse” and the attendant warning that as the bees go, so will go humans. Without bees to pollinate many fruits and vegetables, our food sources will be greatly compromised. The direst warnings predict that our food will be reduced by 30–40%, bad news for a planet with a burgeoning population and other threats to agriculture such as water shortages and climate changes.
After seeing the movie, I did a quick search of various translations of the Bible, looking first for the word “bee” and then for the word “honey.” The particular concordances I used turned up “bee” in only one place. The word “honey,” however, abounded, appearing fifty-some times. The surprising difference in the frequency with which those two words are used in our scriptures makes me wonder: Are bees yet another creature in our universe whose gifts to us humans we take for granted?
Certainly I often forget to consider the energy, the labor, or the good will, let alone the cost behind many things I rely upon—or merely enjoy. How easy to assume certain gifts, in this case not only honey and wax but also the pollination of fruits and other plants, without giving much thought to the source, in this case Apis melifera, the bee itself. Except that now that the health of bees is imperiled, with grave implications for our own well-being, we seem to be waking up to yet another sign that we have not been good stewards of this earth.
As citizens of our planet, twenty-first century human beings still have much to learn about the interdependence of God’s creatures. The bees are but one example. Now that my church has begun looking at the possibility of a beekeeping ministry, we parishioners have much to learn about what might be involved in that specific sphere.
I do not know where this will lead, but I do know that because of thinking about bees, my prayer this week includes renewed awe at the complexity and interconnections of the world. It also includes my confession that I am often not a very mindful steward of the many resources at my disposal. It embraces the hope that I can yet live in ways that enrich the earth rather than deplete it. And it includes gratitude for all God’s creatures.
Especially the bees. For the sweetness they provide. For their fragrant wax that lets us make candles to light our way. And for their work of bearing life-renewing pollen from blossom to blossom. May I too be such a faithful servant.
Drive
by Doug Wysockey-Johnson
Daniel Pink has a new business book called Drive: The Surprising Truth About What Motivates Us. The book is well written and the research and examples are fascinating. That said, the ‘surprising truth’ isn’t all that surprising—it is meaning and purpose that motivate us. He ends the book with this sentence: “…we know that the richest experiences in our lives aren’t when we’re clamoring for validation from others, but when we’re listening to our own voice—doing something that matters, doing it well, and doing it in the service of a cause larger than ourselves.”
Money and acknowledgement are important to a point, but that point is probably less important than we thought. Using our time and energy on the things that matter to us, and making the world a better place—that is what motivates us. It sounds an awful lot like listening for call to me.
This past Sunday I cried my way through the memorial service for my
good friend Susan. Listening to the eulogies, and rummaging through my own memories, a clear picture emerged of Susan. Here was a woman who was motivated by her own values and her faith. In her work, relationships, and volunteer activities, Susan’s “drive” was to use her gifts and experiences for the good of others. (She also loved her week at the spa, nice dinners, and a good show on Broadway. She would cringe at being turned into a saint.)
How about you? What drives you?
The Captain and the Ship
by Tom Pappas
I am fixated on Francesco Schettino. If there ever was someone who needed a moment in time back, it is the captain (need I say former captain) of the cruise ship that ran aground off Italy.
What have you read? State of the art, brand new ship. “Fly by” the island of a crew member’s family as a favor. Left the ship before the passengers were safe. Lied that all the passengers were off. Lied that he was not even the captain. Refused to go back to supervise evacuation. Horrible, horrible, horrible!
No need to stand in judgment. I observe with a broken heart and ache for the victims and their families. For the passengers. For the crew. For the owner of the vessel who trusted Schettino with a huge piece of equipment. For the danger to the pristine seacoast. For the industry. Here is a man who will never again use a vast skill; and neither will he be at peace with himself – ever.
I grieve the diminished optimism all of us have suffered this week. Any one of us is capable of a lapse of attention while driving. (The blind spot is always a menace!) I certainly am not immune to the bad decision – or the impulse to show off. To provide something memorable. It is easy to look over the arc of my years and see times that the slightest variation could have spelled disaster.
What does God do for a person in this predicament? When I did prison ministry any number of inmates said this sentence or a variation of it, “I know God forgives me for what I did, but I will never be able to forgive myself.” Wow, what a challenge to grace. But I can see their point.
I don’t know the answer to the question in the paragraph above. If you shoot me a Bible verse I would almost automatically find a way to minimize what you think it means. I need to struggle with this one for a while. How about you?
Prayer on the Birthday of an Old Friend
by Angier Brock
Today is the birthday of my best friend from childhood, Elizabeth. She lived just across the street, and my first sleepover away from my family was at her house. Her mother, a children’s librarian, signed me up for my first public library card when I was six. Her family had one of the earliest black-and-white TVs in our neighborhood, and it was in her living room that I encountered the original Mouseketeers—Annette, Jimmie, Karen, Cubby—and watched I Love Lucy before there was any such thing as reruns of I Love Lucy. As teenagers, we told each other our secrets. Together we laughed and cried over boyfriends, and we played Johnny Mathis and Christy Minstrels albums for hours on end. We also swiped—and smoked—the freebie cigarettes her father stashed in a hall closet, cartons and cartons of Marlboros he received as a job “perk” (he was a chemist for Phillip Morris before lung cancer killed him). When she turned sixteen, her family got a second car, a baby blue convertible, in which we tooled around town on weekends. Six months later when I turned sixteen, she threw a surprise birthday party for me. That’s also the year we insisted on sitting together—and apart from our parents—at the midnight Christmas Eve service at the neighborhood Episcopal church.
Even though we attended different colleges, our history of friendship kept us close enough to be bridesmaids in each other’s weddings. But after she and her husband moved several states away and her visits home became less frequent, we began losing touch. I am not sure when I saw her last. Perhaps at her father’s funeral sometime in the 1980s? Her mother developed Alzheimer’s, and I did not learn she had died until weeks after the fact. I felt sad that I had not known, and I wrote Elizabeth and told her so. I never heard anything back. That was fifteen years ago.
Thinking about Elizabeth today, her sixty-fifth birthday, I am filled with gratitude for the many gifts of our friendship, particularly for the ways in which I learned from her what it means to be a friend. But I confess to still carrying a little hurt that she did not let me know about her mother’s death, and I cannot help but wonder if, prior to that, I had done something that hurt her. Probably I will never know—though I have come to understand that friends, even mature friends and even best friends, can inadvertently wound one another. That’s one of the risks of being vulnerable, which we are, I think, with our friends.
This, then, is my prayer. That if there is some way in our past in which I have aggrieved her, that she can forgive me. That if ever she thinks back to our long friendship with fondness and gratitude, that she can rejoice. Most especially I pray that her life continues to be blessed, as mine has been, by the presence of friends: people to whom she can tell her secrets; people she can sit with in church on Christmas Eve; people with whom she can tool around town, even if not in a baby blue convertible, and listen to music, even if it’s no longer Johnny Mathis.
Happy Birthday, Elizabeth. Thanks be to God!