Officiant: Those who sowed with tears:
People: Will reap with songs of joy.
“There followed after Jesus a great multitude of the people, and among them were women who bewailed and lamented him. But Jesus turning to them said, “Daughters of Jerusalem, do not weep for me, but weep for yourselves and for your children.”
The word ‘treasure’ has been showing up in my morning readings; from different places, in different context. It finally catches me, slows me down enough to notice and ask:
What treasure does God have for me, long for me to accept?
What treasure lies in Lent for me this year?
What treasure lies in me?
And I wonder, what if I create a Treasure Box for Lent? With paints and glued-on plastic hearts and maybe some buttons, and fabrics and ric-rac trim. And maybe secret away little notes on scrappy pieces of paper in the box as Lent reveals her treasures.
“Is that okay?” I ask myself. “To walk into this time before Easter with more a notion of creating something fun than sacrifice?
Yes.
Then, as eagerly as I ran to find the cigar box that I have had stashed away in my art supplies, ‘the achiever’ showed up all worried, just like when I am choosing the next blank-paged journal, that it might not be the right box? Asking performance questions about if I should or could finish it by a made-up deadline of Ash Wednesday?
“What is wrong with me,” I think. “Have I so quickly fallen into the trap of accomplishment without even the slightest glance and allowance for the process? Don’t you remember that God is more in the process business than outcome?”
“Go easy,” I hear. “It is the creating and discovery with God in the unknown that reveals the treasure.”
And so, I begin. And invite you too, to listen for what might guide you from the grip of thinking (too much). What art, song, dance, sport might loosen sometimes-strident, merit-based ideas of faith and move us towards the gentler wonder and mystery of the unknowing, the un-thought? The yet-to-be-created, the undiscovered? To listen for and explore how you might be called to discover your treasure of Lent.
“I am the Treasure, and the Glory of My Presence glistens and shimmers along the way.” – Jesus Calling by Sarah Young
“Lead us to the heart of life’s treasure that we may be bearers of the gift.” – Sounds of the Eternal, A Celtic Psalter by John Philip Newell
* Just a little note of support: It is never too late to begin a practice of prayer and play; to not put too hard of a deadline on yourself to start, do, finish, accomplish. Each day is a new beginning, and each response of the heart is a sacred journey.
In my best intention, it is better to pray for my enemies without name as one man’s enemy may be another’s saint. And to name, the one over the other is to place my opinion above the wisdom and truth of the God I love.
But, to not pray for the enemy that steals love from my heart is human neglect if not spiritual dereliction. It leaves me vulnerable to the prey of self-righteous ego or influence of lesser angels of this earth.
Lord, soften my heart for those I make enemies. Lift me to trust beyond my own reason and estimation of wrongs. Show me the mercy of You in my time of fear. And grant us peace of Thy will be done.
Sometimes it is hard – facing the limits of what we can do or offer to loved ones in their time of sorrow, struggle, grief.
It sometimes helps me to remember that when God knit me together, God designed me with natural limits of what is mine to experience and do, and to live within these 24 hours.
It seems silly really,
this idea of expressing the essence of a soul
in a collection of paints and glass, paper and board.
Still,
I tried.
And invited St. Thérèse de Lisieux to help me;
guide me in my clumsy, yet impassioned attempt
to create an icon for the love of her.
I see all of the limits of my artistry.
I cozy up with the usual harsh judgement against my talents
while hoping to not let the good be lost in pursuit of the perfect.
Then,
for one fleeting moment,
in an instant of senses from the deep seat of my soul,
I recognize co-creation.
I experience the companion.
I feel the love of a soul just one luminous veil beyond
touch, or reason, or sight, or sound.
It is a small, unsuspecting thing;
this delicate little flower from a garden of wild things and tame dreams;
sprung from seeds that I do not know that I know.
It is a little love for a soul.
Let us humbly range ourselves among the imperfect;
let us estimate ourselves as little souls whom the good God must sustain every instant.-Thérèse de Lisieux
It’s never too late
to start a spiritual practice for Lent.
It’s never too hard to try.
It’s never too much to ask
if I can be a little more aware
of my short comings,
and a little less quick to judge others.
It’s never too much of a sacrifice
to stop staring at the little me;
to pause and think, and see and serve the greater Us.
It’s never too soon to be a little more willing
to look beyond my more comfortable ideas of what caring,
and an act of compassion, might look like.
It’s never too early to remember Grace;
and to follow gentle forgiveness for myself and for my fellows.
It’s never too late to practice Love.
Light cast out darkness of sin and sorrow
Grief consumes ashes where separation lay
Silhouettes of Jesus walking among us
Inviting our mind to trust not what we see.
We who live now enter the last of the story
Experience the loss with epilogue’s hope
Every grief laid barren and seared to the wood
Raising love, forgiveness and forever companionship.
This is the story beyond the scenes
Living the practice on the other side of the cross
This is the news to the whole of creation
And chance to know the eternal Easter.
“And he said to them, “Go into all the world and proclaim the good news to the whole creation.” Mark 16:15