MAKING LENT 2010: A WEEKLY LENTEN RESOURCE FOR THE PEOPLE OF ST. MARY’S AND THE ST. MARY’S COMMUNITY

The Fourth Week of Lent: Tsitsi Ella Jaji – The Mystery of Friendship

I’ve been spending this week with one of my dearest friends from Zimbabwe. I was born and spent my childhood there, and share with many people of my generation vivid memories of the immense hopefulness and joy of the years immediately following independence in 1980. And like millions of Zimbabweans who have moved away in the wake of economic and political upheavals, my friend Elinore and I carry with us a jumble of feelings about our present “diaspora”: a deep longing for home, a sense that what we remember as home no longer exists, a strange guilt at having left our loved ones to struggle there, and a stubborn nagging conviction that God will restore the fortunes of our little piece of Zion. And this week we have spent hours trading stories with each other, many about our joint adventures as teenagers playing in orchestras and rolling our eyes at our teachers, and many more about things we didn’t share back then. We haven’t seen each other in 13 years, and haven’t spent more than a couple days together in 17 years. It took a tragedy to bring us together again, and before I arrived at her home I wondered how it would feel to resume our conversation, and perhaps even whether we could.

Jacaranda trees in Montagu Ave, [Harare], Zimbabwe 1975 by Graham Bould

Last November her son passed away in a terribly unexpected way. When he was born she asked me to be his godmother, and over the last nine years I’ve followed her stories about his funny expressions, unique culinary creations, and inappropriately hilarious skype icons. I always imagined that I would come and visit them in person, just as soon as I saved up enough money for the trip to their new home in Sweden…and it always seemed like too much of an extravagance, the thing I would do the next summer, or after graduation, or after I had paid off my student loans. And then the news came that he was gone. I am not sure what was more devastating, knowing that I had missed out on the chance to know him any better than through our brief electronic correspondence or knowing that my dear Elinore was going through such an excruciating loss so far away. We have spent lots of time on skype since then, and this week we finally can be together. Some of our time has been spent looking through his creations: everything from astonishingly detailed storybooks about space to an odd little angel he made for his Mum which now perches atop a cupboard she has made for his memories and creations. And while fingering his things and talking quietly of the horror of discovering his death released heavy tears I have been astonished by how much time we have also spent laughing, recognizing in each other the girls we were, reminding each other of the mad exploits that sealed our place among the ranks of the arch-nerds in high school. And filling in the gaps about life since then: the bitter struggles of illness, relationships, homesickness. It has been a profoundly healing time. For Elinore, but also for me. A time to heal from an ache that I did not even know was ailing me.

This lent has been an odd season for me. I began it deciding to come to one of the short day-time impositions of ashes rather than the evening gathering where there would have been more people. Nothing came to mind to give up, and so after deciding that Facebook was probably the greatest distraction in my life, I announced on my page that I would be curtailing my online presence for Lent. It was clear within about 36 hours that I had not been granted the grace to keep this vow. And since then I’ve come to see that friendship, sustained through online applications or expensive plane tickets to Sweden, is one of the ways through which the Great Love that Julian of Norwich sometimes called Our Mother Jesus is revealed most poignantly. I remember the many stories of intimate friendship in our tradition: Jonathan and David; Elizabeth and Mary; Jesus and Mary Magdelene. And I think that in enduring friendships we truly taste and see how good communion with that Mother Jesus might be. I am thankful beyond words for the friendship I have known with Elinore. And I suppose if there is a ‘message’ in this reflection it is an invitation to see what may be revealed to you in the great mystery of friendship.

MAKING LENT 2010: A WEEKLY LENTEN RESOURCE FOR THE PEOPLE OF ST. MARY’S AND THE ST. MARY’S COMMUNITY

The Third Week of Lent: Thomas Ward— Chocolates and Uncertainty

I always used to enjoy giving things up for Lent. It was a chance to prove to myself that I cared enough about whatever religion meant to me in those days to deprive myself arbitrarily of some small but enjoyable thing for forty days. The decision of what to forgo was often arrived at in a somewhat haphazard manner-usually involving my forgetting until a week into the season and then choosing something from among the several pleasures in which I happened not to have indulged up to that point-but once the decision was made, I was pretty good at sticking to it. Easter always brought with it some measure of pride to make up for the humility to which I had willingly submitted myself: not only had I made God happy by conserving, in however small a way, the planet's precious chocolate supply, but I had exercised Restraint and, in the process, proven that I could reign in my appetites-that I was in control.

Fasting Buddha, at the Lahore Museum. 2nd Century AD

This strikes me now as precisely the wrong attitude to have taken toward a season meant to teach us that we are all but dust. However much we might think we can, by an act of sheer willpower, declare our independence from the world, Lent calls to us as persistently as a box of delicious, forbidden chocolate and reminds us that we come from the very earth we walk upon and, in reality, probably have about as much agency. If there is a value to renouncing something, perhaps it is that doing so gives us the chance to experience firsthand the failure of our resolve.



But that can't be quite right either; if Lent is meant to remind us of our human limitations, it won't let us escape from the responsibilities and the powers we do have to make decisions that might have a positive effect in the world.

In thinking about whether or not to give something up this year, it struck me that, forasmuch as it is meant to inspire a sense of humility and, perhaps, of connection to those who go without on a daily basis, there is actually no greater luxury than that of being able to choose to forego something. It might be right to say that only within a culture of prosperity could a virtue be made out of not enjoying the things one is otherwise in a position to enjoy. And yet, it is a luxury that seems, oddly, to be available to everyone, no matter how poor: indeed it sometimes seems like rich people have less interest in taking advantage of their increased capacity for self-imposed privation.


Lent is full of paradoxes: it is supposed to remind us that we're mortal and that our sense of being in control is an illusion while at the same time it calls us to do something; it presents privation as a luxury, and one that seems more often to be indulged in by the poor. I actually don't know what Lent means: that is, I've been sitting in front of a blank computer screen for some time trying to think of a neat way of summarizing what Lent means to me, and I'm getting nowhere. However, if there's one thing that I think Lent really challenges us to do without, it is the certainties we spend the rest of the year holding onto, consciously or unconsciously. We're sometimes told that Lent is a time to learn about oneself, but perhaps it is time when we enter into reflection without the expectation that anything will be revealed. There are very few times when we aren't responsible for coming up with an answer for things, but it strikes me that we might take this opportunity to explore possibilities of being that don't involve being able always to explain what we're about. And it is the kind of uncertainty best dwelt on, I would suggest, over a nice box of chocolates.

MAKING LENT 2010: A WEEKLY LENTEN RESOURCE FOR THE PEOPLE OF ST. MARY’S AND THE ST. MARY’S COMMUNITY

The Second Week of Lent: Sara Macro Forrest—A Story and an Opportunity

Last week's Sunday school session was about the Hebrew concept of "midbar" (wilderness). The wilderness of the Old Testament is a place where wonderful and terrible things happen. Here is an excerpt from last week's lesson:

For many of us, when we leave our familiar school or home to go somewhere new like a new school or camp – it is really difficult. Nothing is familiar – schedule, people, food – nothing. It is scary. You may want to go back, even if where you came from wasn’t that great. But even though it was hard and there may have even been some tears involved, most of the time it turned out pretty well. (Even if the new place did not turn out so well, you probably learned a lot about yourself in the process.)

Midbar is Hebrew for “wilderness.” It was a scary and frightening place. It seemed empty and lifeless compared to Egypt. Even though the Israelites were free, they did not like it. But something very important happened there in this empty place, away from the “comforts” of Egypt. The people of Israel met God there.

The art project asked children to draw a time in their lives when they struggled, or were in a wilderness or didn't know what to do (or were tempted). You can see the outcome on the Parish Hall bulletin board. Some of the kids drew pictures of staying alone in a tent at camp, jumping off a big rock into a lake, or realizing that the teacher in a classroom is in charge, and that it doesn't always work out to challenge the teacher. But the lesson reminds us that "God is Always with You, Even in the Wilderness".
One child brought up the "Footprints in the Sand" poem. [http://www.wowzone.com/fprints.htm] She described it to us and reminded us that “…when we see only one set of footprints, that's when God carries us through the hard times.”


I've decided that for my Lenten practice this year I'm going to do something a little unusual, but I hope it will be fruitful. My Baha’i friend suggested this on SoulPancake (http://bit.ly/ckuxf1 Rainn Wilson's-- aka "Dwight Schrute" of The Office’s-- blog)

Now, the opportunity: Draw on your innate creativity and make a collage that represents your soul over the past year.


No one else can tell your story like you can. Here are some guidelines to help you get started:

1. Make a list of your highlights, low points, and learning experiences of 2009.
2. Find some old magazines, bits of paper, small objects or photos and cut out the images/words that resonate with the experiences on your list.
3. Layer the images and words and attach them to a surface (using glue, wire, tape—whatever).
4. Upload your collage here, and tell us how it felt to tell your story using art.
Can you muster the courage to share the life of your mind, soul, and emotions?
So, I'm going to do that project. And, I'm going to continue to work on prayer, because I'm starting to feel like it's really effective! Eventually, I’ll post the outcome on my blog: http://grandforet.blogspot.com/

My soul has been through a wilderness in the past year. It was a wild and transformative place. I feel like I have found a path, and felt God’s presence too. I hope that a visual description of my journey will be helpful, and prepare me for living the miracle of Easter.

P.S. If you are looking for a great movie about the life of Jesus that is appropriate for kids ages ~ 4 yrs and up, I recommend “The Miracle Maker” [http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0208298/]. It’s claymation but visually amazing with a wonderful voiceover cast. It would be a great preparation for Easter during Lent for kids. A central character is Jairus’ daughter who was healed by Jesus – kids can relate to her.

Next Week…Thomas Ward

MAKING LENT: A WEEKLY LENTEN RESOURCE FOR THE PEOPLE OF ST. MARY’S AND THE GREATER ST. MARY’S COMMUNITY

Breugel: The Fight Between Carnival and Lent

Here are some thoughts to ponder during your wanderings in the first week of Lent, from the blog, Per Crucem ad Lucem…blogging life sub specie crucis [http://cruciality.wordpress.com/] by Jason Goroncy, a Presbyterian Minister of Word and Sacrament who teaches and serves as Dean of Studies at the Knox Centre for Ministry and Leadership in New Zealand. Goroncy writes:
“There’s one wee book of [Stanley} Hauerwas’ that I purchased during the past year and never got around to reading, namely Cross-Shattered Christ: Meditations on the Seven Last Words (Brazos Press, 2004). Lent seemed like the right time to dig in. So I found me a quiet moment tonight and read it. Here’s a few passages that I sat with for a while:

‘Everyday death always threatens the everyday, but we depend on our death-denying routines to return life to normality’. (p. 26)

On Luke 23:43: ‘What does it mean to say these are criminals?’ (p. 38)

Citing Rowan Williams: ‘God is in the connections we cannot make’. (p. 39)

‘Our attempt to speak confidently of God in the face of modern skepticism, a skepticism we suspect also grips our lives as Christians, betrays a certainty inappropriate for a people who worship a crucified God’. (p. 40)

‘Our salvation is no more or no less than being made part of God’s body, God’s enfleshed memory, so that the world may know that we are redeemed from our fevered and desperate desire to insure we will not be forgotten’. (p. 44)

MAKING LENT, WEEK ONE, PAGE 2
‘In spite of the current presumption that Christianity is important for no other reasin than that Christians are pro-family people, it must be admitted that none of the Gospels portray Jesus as family-friendly’. (p. 50)

‘Jesus’s being handed over, Jesus’s obedience even to the point of death, Jesus’s cry of abandonment makes no sense if this is not the outworking of the mystery called Trinity. This is not God becoming what God was not, but rather here we witness what God has always been … The cross, this cry of abandonment, is not God becoming something other than God, is not an act of divine self-alienation; instead this is the very character of God’s kenosis – complete self-emptying made possible by perfect love’. (pp. 62–3)

‘This is not a dumb show that some abstract idea of god appears to go through to demonstrate that he or she really has our best interest at heart. No, this is the Father’s deliberately giving his Christ over to a deadly destiny so that our destiny would not be determined by death’. (p. 63)

‘We try … to compliment God by saying that God is transcendent, but ironically our very notion of transcendence can make God a creature after our own hearts. Our idea of God, our assumption that God must possess the sovereign power to make everything turn out all right for us, at least in the long run, is revealed by Jesus’s cry of abandonment to be the idolatry it is … In truth we stand with Pilate. We do not want to give up our understanding of God. We do not want Jesus to be abandoned because we do not want to acknowledge that the one who abandons and is abandoned is God. We seek to “explain” these words of dereliction, to save and protect God from making a fool out of being God, but our attempts to protect God reveal how frightening we find a God who refuses to save us by violence’. (pp. 64–5)

‘If God is not in Mary’s belly, we are not saved’. (p. 76)

‘”It is finished” is not a death gurgle. “It is finished” is not “I am done for.” “It is finished” will not be, as we know from the tradition of the ordering of these words from the cross, the last words of Jesus. “It is finished is a cry of victory. “It is finished” is the triumphant cry that what I came to do has been done. All is accomplished, completed, fulfilled work. The work that is finished, moreover, is the cross. He will be and is resurrected, but the resurrected One remains the One crucified. Rowan Williams reminds us of Pascal’s stark remark that “Jesus will be in agony until the end of the world.” This is a remark that makes unavoidable the recognition that we live in the time between the times – the kingdom is begun in Christ but will not be consummated or perfected until the end of the world. Williams observes that Pascal’s comment on Jesus’s on-going agony is not an observation about the deplorable state of unbelievers; it is instead an exhortation to us, those who believe in Christ. It is an exhortation not to become nostalgic for a supposedly lets compromised past or take refuge in some imagined purified future, but to dwell in the tension-filled time between times, to remain awake to our inability “to stay in the almost unbearable present moment where Jesus is.”‘ (pp. 83–4)

‘We are told in John 1:18 that without the Son no one can see the Father. Von Balthasar, therefore, reminds us “when the Son, the Word of the Father is dead, then no one can see God, hear of him or attain him. And this day exists, when the Son is dead, and the Father, accordingly, inaccessible.” This is the terror, the silence of the Father, to which Jesus has committed himself, this is why he cried the cry of abandonment. He has commended himself to the Father so he might for us undergo the dark night of death. Jesus commends himself to the Father, becoming for us all that is contrary to God. Christ suffers by becoming the “No” that the salvation wrought by his life creates. Without Christ there could be no hell – no abandonment by God – but the very hell created by Christ cannot overwhelm the love he has for us’. (p. 97)

‘Christ had no Christ to imitate’. (p. 99)