Those who know me well know that I'm more of an Advent gal than a Lenten lassie. But Lent has been tugging at my heart these past few weeks in most unexpected ways. I have no idea what will come from this shift but know that this journey into the desert of Lent will be different this year...and that I am meant to travel light...and that it begins on Valentine's Day (which feels like an odd day on which to begin Lent).
One story and two quotes helped to frame my preparation for Lent. The story came from my son, who works (periodically) as a substitute church organist. He worked for churches as an organist/choir director long before he could drive a car - thus we share 20+ years of his church stories coupled with the 35+ years of my own experiences in ministry. So when he starts a conversation with either you're not going to believe this or wait until you hear about this morning, he gets my full attention.
He was called at the last minute to substitute at a church because the organist/choir director had the flu. They indicated that he would rehearse/direct both the bell and chancel choirs, as well as provide music for worship. They offered him a stipend for that work - which he accepted. He went, rehearsed/directed, played for worship, and had an enjoyable time. When it was time to leave the minister came over and said something like this: I know we agreed a fee for your services this morning, but you did far more than I think is fair for the fee we agreed. So if it is okay with you, I'd like to keep this check and have the treasurer issue a check more in keeping with what you did this morning. I will send it to you this week. My son initially declined and said that he was fine with the amount they had agreed to. But the minister persisted in doing what he thought was just.
I said what? My son said, I know. Isn't that incredible? With our combined experience of 55+ years, neither one of us had encountered an experience like that. It did feel incredible.
But wait - the minister's response should not be incredible - or exceptional. It should be exactly how we respond to life - hands open and from a place of generosity and appreciation, not a place of fear and scarcity. I found myself thinking: The next time I am in the 'burgh, I want to attend that church - I'll bet it is a dynamic, thriving community.
And then the first Lenten invitation settled in: I want to be like that minister. I want to approach my life and ministry from an opened-handed place of generosity and appreciation - a place of seeing and knowing and responding - a place that is fair and just. A place rooted in love. I want the Lenten journey to transform me instead of having it provide a place for me to be a Lenten tourist!
The second invitation came as I read my daily devotional on Monday (with a shout out to Give Us This Day) and encountered the story of Brother Lawrence of the Resurrection in Robert Ellsberg's column called Blessed Among Us. Ellsberg says that Brother Lawrence accomplished no great deeds as he spent forty years of his life working in the monastery kitchen as a Carmelite Lay Brother (1611-1691). But his wisdom about the spiritual life so impressed a Church official who was visiting the monastery that the visitor recorded their conversations and letters, publishing them as The Practice of the Presence of God - a book that is a spiritual classic.
One story and two quotes helped to frame my preparation for Lent. The story came from my son, who works (periodically) as a substitute church organist. He worked for churches as an organist/choir director long before he could drive a car - thus we share 20+ years of his church stories coupled with the 35+ years of my own experiences in ministry. So when he starts a conversation with either you're not going to believe this or wait until you hear about this morning, he gets my full attention.
He was called at the last minute to substitute at a church because the organist/choir director had the flu. They indicated that he would rehearse/direct both the bell and chancel choirs, as well as provide music for worship. They offered him a stipend for that work - which he accepted. He went, rehearsed/directed, played for worship, and had an enjoyable time. When it was time to leave the minister came over and said something like this: I know we agreed a fee for your services this morning, but you did far more than I think is fair for the fee we agreed. So if it is okay with you, I'd like to keep this check and have the treasurer issue a check more in keeping with what you did this morning. I will send it to you this week. My son initially declined and said that he was fine with the amount they had agreed to. But the minister persisted in doing what he thought was just.
I said what? My son said, I know. Isn't that incredible? With our combined experience of 55+ years, neither one of us had encountered an experience like that. It did feel incredible.
But wait - the minister's response should not be incredible - or exceptional. It should be exactly how we respond to life - hands open and from a place of generosity and appreciation, not a place of fear and scarcity. I found myself thinking: The next time I am in the 'burgh, I want to attend that church - I'll bet it is a dynamic, thriving community.
And then the first Lenten invitation settled in: I want to be like that minister. I want to approach my life and ministry from an opened-handed place of generosity and appreciation - a place of seeing and knowing and responding - a place that is fair and just. A place rooted in love. I want the Lenten journey to transform me instead of having it provide a place for me to be a Lenten tourist!
The second invitation came as I read my daily devotional on Monday (with a shout out to Give Us This Day) and encountered the story of Brother Lawrence of the Resurrection in Robert Ellsberg's column called Blessed Among Us. Ellsberg says that Brother Lawrence accomplished no great deeds as he spent forty years of his life working in the monastery kitchen as a Carmelite Lay Brother (1611-1691). But his wisdom about the spiritual life so impressed a Church official who was visiting the monastery that the visitor recorded their conversations and letters, publishing them as The Practice of the Presence of God - a book that is a spiritual classic.
Brother Lawrence believed that it was possible to cultivate (at all times) a consciousness of the presence of God - and thus be in a constant state of prayer or conversation with God. He up-ended expectations about the spiritual life and provided a new lens through which people could view their relationship with God.
Our sanctification did not depend upon changing our works, but in doing for God's sake that which we commonly do for our own self.
He achieved this intimacy with God while working in the kitchen on the most mundane tasks of life - washing and chopping, cooking and cleaning. And in the midst of it doing chores he found heaven!
The Lenten journey is one of conversion - of changing direction (sometimes a slight mid-course correction, but other times a radical change) - of focusing on the essence of what truly matters. And as a corrective to culture and the expectations of society, dear Brother Lawrence gives us a new way to measure our success:
God regards not the greatness of the work, but the love with which it is performed.
I do not know where this invitation will take me as I open my hands to release fear and embrace love, but if Brother Lawrence's experience is any example, heaven awaits right here on earth! The realm of God breaking open in our midst - may it help to break open my heart and fill it with love and trust that can overflow into the surrounding world.
What invitation is tugging at your heart at this beginning of Lent?
With love and blessings on this Valentine's Day - the perfect day for Lent to begin,
Kim
