As we enter Holy Week, we pray for grace to live the way of the Cross and following Jesus.

The Paschal mystery is the reflection on Jesus’ experiences on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday of Holy week.  Basically, his death, the mystery of Saturday in the grave, and the resurrection.  We see this cycle of death, mystery, and resurrection in the fabric of creation.  One such cycle is sunset, the dark night, and the following sunrise.  Another example would be a seed being placed in the ground at planting, the mysterious growth in the earth, and the sprout of the plant breaking forth from the earth to its new life.  If these cycles can be seen in creation, how can they be seen in our lives today?

There’s a question I am asked sometimes. It isn’t original to me or to the question askers, but it is worth posing here. “Why did Jesus have to go to the cross?” There are volumes of theological works written on this question, but I want to pay attention for a moment to who has not asked me this question.

One of the rhythms that I have leaned into in the past several years is getting up early in the morning before my wife and kids. I enjoy this time of quiet, of coffee, of reading or praying or just taking in the silence. In this early spring season the silence most mornings is tempered by the sound of the many birds making their early morning quest to my bird feeder. One morning recently the birdsong was loud enough sufficient to distract me from my silent prayers.

I’m being honest here, I mostly fail at Lent. I’ve had varying experiences with Lent that circle around the oft asked question, “What are you giving up?”.

I would never say this, but now it seems I am, until recently, I viewed lent as a rule-laden abstinence game. If I did a good job of abstaining from my chosen vice I got what? A gold star from Jesus? A self-righteous pat on the back? More Reese’s peanut butter eggs on Easter, or wait can I have them on Sundays?

“Blessed be God, who has given peace to his people Israel just as he said he’d do. Not one of all those good and wonderful words that he spoke through Moses has misfired. May God, our very own God, continue to be with us just as he was with our ancestors—may he never give up and walk out on us. May he keep us centered and devoted to him, following the life path he has cleared, watching the signposts, walking at the pace and rhythms he laid down for our ancestors.”  

1 Kings 8:56-58

Thirst. When do you remember the last time you were really thirsty? How did you quench that thirst? There is nothing like a drink of cold water or something to quench our thirst after a hot day, or after a hard run, or intense workout.

A friend was recently sharing with me how she drinks 150oz of water a day. She says she just feels better and noticed how early in her life she felt so lethargic. She admitted she lived off of any kind of coke, diet or other wise. She realized how much her body had been longing for water.

Recently, a friend of mine got married in Texas.  If you know anything about Texas, it’s BIG.  And they do things BIG. I was honored to officiate the wedding.  And the wedding was BIG, very classy not showy but of all the weddings I have done, this was the BIGGEST.  It was an amazing 2 days of celebrating.  Lots of cool surprises, incredible venue, and delicious food.  But there is one thing I will remember about this wedding that stands out amidst all those things.

As we continue our waiting posture this Advent season and enter into the week of Joy, I return to pondering what Dallas Willard asserted at the end of his life -- that perhaps attachment to God is salvation (Renovated, Jim Wilder 2020). 

Today we enter the Advent season, a season of waiting and anticipating, a time for reflecting and a time for hope. Hope is a word we hear a lot during this season of the year. Hope is an overused word in our culture. Its richness has been cheapened by familiarity. We hope we do good on our test. We hope our ball team wins. We hope the weather is sunny. We hope our candidate wins. Most often when we say, “I hope” what we are really saying is, “I wish.” And like the penny we throw in the fountain and then walk away, we really don’t expect much to happen. But the Scriptures give us a powerful new vocabulary for hope. God’s word gives us a new way of seeing reality and guides us in a way of walking, working and living in hope. Found in the richness of the Psalms and in the words of Paul we can learn a way of hoping that God can use to birth in us an expectant and patient confidence. Rather than mere wishful thinking, there is a trustworthy and sure hope that we can have in God.

As Christmas nears, our family works together to make room in our living space for our Christmas tree strung with simple white lights and flocked with fake snow (which, by the way, gets all over everything). We strain and complain a little as we lug a big chair upstairs and move tables and lamps and decorations, all to create space for the beauty and celebration of Christmas to become the centerpiece of our home. We rearrange life, practically and metaphorically, to make room for Christmas at the center.

Christy and I just returned from a 2 week Celtic pilgrimage to Scotland. We spent the most time on an island called Iona. Iona is like the influential birthplace of a way of life in Christ known as Celtic spirituality.

You’re invited……Really, YOU are Invited!

Isn’t it exciting to receive an invitation? You’ve been invited to spend time with someone who is eager to be with you.

If you’re like most, finding time to do anything nurturing, encouraging, or fun is difficult. It’s hard to tackle the long list of things to do at home: menu planning, cooking and cleaning up, laundry, pandemic-type cleaning of the bathrooms, vacuuming, garbage….. leaves to rake, snow to shovel…..you get the idea.

I am in a learning cycle…One I’ve never navigated before, at least not quite like this.

This is the week of my 82nd birthday. God has given me and my husband a long and beautiful life in Kingdom service around the world. Our children, in their 50’s, love and serve God.

Yet, I have been fighting a stomach flu for two weeks. This past Sunday I spent four hours in an Emergency Room.

It is February in Nebraska, the dead of winter.

Every February I participate in a three day silent retreat at The Cloisters on the Platte. This is a time I have come to welcome, a time to be tucked away in silence, with God.

Because the retreat is run by Jesuits, it is Catholic in nature but open to all. As someone who swims in Protestant streams, I’m always reminded of our different views of the cross. We Protestants feature an empty cross, our focus is often on the risen Christ. But enter into a Catholic cathedral, church or monastery and you will find Jesus still on the cross. The crucifix highlights the suffering and death of Christ. Oftentimes his wounds are present- the wound in his side, blood dripping down from his crown of thorns. Hands and feet punctured through.

Dirty bottle caps turned into a beautiful journal cover. What once was simply an accent that was used for its functionality and then discarded when no longer needed, now, has been found, cleaned, and reshaped together with others to form a work of beauty. And this was not without its hardship. The process involves being ground and melted in order to be reformed. For me, this is much like my wilderness times of wrestling with God, others, and my own brokenness and failures. The process hurts. In my experience what enables me to traverse these dry sands is the gentle love of God and a caring friend. It’s hard to believe how often I need to hear and experience once again that I am loved.

When I saw the scripture reading listed, I inwardly groaned. Yes, I realize that this is definitely not a Christ-like response, but I’m being honest. As someone who has been involved in women’s ministry for thirty years, I feel like Psalm 139 has been addressed at almost every gathering and Bible study I’ve attended. This shouldn’t be a shocker to anyone, but women generally struggle with body image, so constantly being reminded that “I am fearfully and wonderfully made,” has become a mantra for most of us.

At this Christmastime, my 81st, I am overwhelmed anew by God’s purposeful love for each of us, as He descended in human form. A love that will never let us go.

Several months ago, God released my husband and me from a church we had helped start and grow over the past five years. Our hearts were in pieces, yet at peace. We had no idea where to go. Six weeks later, God led us into a church body we never dreamed existed. Good teaching, preaching, discipleship/mentoring programs, and over 100 university students attending every Sunday. Oh! the love of God that never leaves us.

As a parent, there are two things I love about Christmas Day. One is watching the faces of my loved ones as they peel off the paper from the mystery box they’re holding. The other is listening to my kids share what they received with the cousins and friends. After days and weeks of anticipation built up from walking pass boxes and bags with their name on it. The joy of the reveal is as good as the gift itself. Having a gift under the tree is one thing, but knowing what the gift is, possessing it, and sharing it for the first time is another.

As we enter the season that anticipates the arrival of the Lord, sent to save the world, if you read the headlines of the daily news, you are likely to shake your head and believe that the world is on fire. Yet, when I am at the point of feeling discouraged, I remember being in our dining room with my mom, Grandma, Aunts, or some elder ladies of the church who would shake their heads, shiver, and hug themselves then sincerely ask the Lord to have mercy on the people involved, proclaiming often through tears or anger: Lawd’ have Mercy!