Change.

It’s a word that is often bandied about in various contexts. Change was the overall theme of the 2008 Presidential Election, no matter which side of the political aisle you sat on. The Great Recession of 2009 ushered in changes many of us had never experienced in our lifetimes. And as we begin the new year we all hope that we experience positive change in ourselves and in our country. Politicians talk about change, businesspeople talk about change, pundits talk about change, therapists talk about change, even Pastor Kate’s powerful sermon last weekend talked about change. But how do we change? Can we change ourselves? Can we change others?

A moment of transparency with you all, my family in Christ: I struggle with an addiction. But unlike an alcoholic or a drug addict my addiction is to something free, readily available, and completely legal—I am addicted to people. Not in the sense of loneliness, but in the co-dependent meaning of the word that strives for validation, recognition, and control. I didn’t realize I was a co-dependent until I ended up in an Overcoming Obstacles therapy group at my Southern Baptist college (proof that the Lord still works in mysterious ways). In extremely simple and short terms, all of my interpersonal relationships were colored with an unhealthy craving for acceptance because I had rejected myself and felt rejected by others. It wasn’t until I had made these realizations about myself that I was able to change my ways of thinking and my behaviors.

In fact, while in that class I was able to learn a lot about the nature of change. Change requires a lot of effort. In order to change we have to take an inventory of where we are at and see what we can improve to make things better. Most change requires the breaking of old habits. Many changes lead us into new, unfamiliar, uncomfortable places. It’s a sad truth that we often resist change because it is “easier” than what we are doing now. My change in the way I relate to people is one that I need to regularly review and reinforce. One of the best things I learned while in class was called the “Bombshell Theory:”

“I cannot change others by direct action.
I can only change myself, by God’s grace.
Others will have a tendency to change
in reaction to my change.”

Astute readers will have noticed one thing about this post so far—how does my Lenten focus on prayer relate to change? The answer, of course, is everything. For you see, to pray is to change. Prayer changes our vantage point from seeing things through our understanding and by putting on the mind of Christ. Once you begin seeing things the way that God sees them, there’s no way you can look at what is going on in your life or in your world the same way. I have found that as I’ve focused more on prayer that even the way that I pray has changed. Too often I have found myself using God as a Divine Vending Machine where you would receive a reward after the correct set of inputs. Prayer now is about thinking God’s thoughts.

Prayer allows us to open ourselves to God and to allow God to change us and fix what is broken. It is not easy. It is not always fast. It is not always pretty. It is, however, always beautiful. It is important to remember that this process is personal—it begins within ourselves. Changing others through direct action, as Bombshell Theory states, is impossible. It’s not our job to be in control of others, but to pray that God would help us all see what needs changing in our lives. And when we are all praying, all seeing each other through the eyes of God, I believe a change is going to come. Are you ready for it?

Amen.

Repent or Perish. Repent or perish.
Are there more shocking words in our Christian vocabulary?

This phrase brings to mind street preachers on the corner, wearing a hand-written sandwich board proclaiming “Jesus died for us”, handing out tracts, and shouting into a bullhorn: Repent or Perish! Damning us all to hell. These words conjure up the tagline of a book series, like Left Behind, scaring people into believing in Jesus, with the threat of chaos and danger if we don’t.

We hear these words—repent or perish–and we want to turn and run in the other direction. We get the same urge we had as a child, when we knew we were in trouble, and now caught, and we heard our parents voice; or when that annoying neighbor is calling after us, and we know if we talk to her we won’t be free for an hour; we hear these words, this voice, and our instinct is to run in the other direction.

Perhaps it brings to mind images of church communities you were part of in the past, or negative images from TV or friends or family who use this language to send you to hell and proclaim a negative, hate-filled message about Christianity. Repent or perish also gets translated as: Change or Die-we see that on t-shirts. Change or die sounds more like the title of an Arnold Schwarzenegger movie than a motivating, life-changing command from Jesus.

What if that had been our Lenten theme? Instead of Search Me, Know Me: Change or Die! Would you be here this morning? Or would you have gone running in the other direction? You probably would have found a church where the words weren’t so shocking.

What’s going on here, in our text from Luke, is Jesus really condemning us to death? What are his disciples asking him that evokes this kind of shocking vocabulary?

Well, Jesus’ disciples are much like us: They are asking the age-old theological question about evil. Why do bad things happen? They’ve just heard about some friends, fellow Jews, a group of Galileans who were sacrificing at the Temple, practicing their religion, minding their own business, when Pilate, the cruel and evil dictator, ordered that these innocents be slaughtered while they were practicing their faith.
Jesus’ followers can’t understand—they are in shock and they are looking for answers. They’re trying to make meaning out of an unimaginable situation. So they assume that the Galileans must have died because they are sinners, and God is punishing them. They must have deserved their fate. The people still alive, following Jesus, must be better people in the eyes of God—how else could God let such a tragedy occur? Surely they perished because they didn’t repent—this must be some kind of divine punishment.
Why do bad things happen, Jesus, they ask?

Wouldn’t you be asking that question, if you had Jesus in your midst, God incarnate, wouldn’t you be eager to ask: Why evil? Why tragedies? Where is God? Give us some kind of explanation! I know that I would.

As a pastor, I get asked that question all the time—why do bad things happen? And where is a good God when evil infiltrates the world. I wonder the same thing myself. We, like the disciples, are eager to find answers and to make meaning out of the meaningless.

So we stand with the disciples, anxiously awaiting Jesus’ answer, and how does he explain evil in the midst of a good God? He doesn’t.

He doesn’t. As someone who gets asked this question on a very regular basis, I take comfort in the fact that even Jesus, even Jesus, didn’t explain evil. What does he say? He does make very clear that bad things don’t happen as a result of divine punishment. He makes clear that God wills life, but in a broken world, tragic events happen that we can’t understand or explain. He brings up the people who were killed while standing under a tower in Siloam—some innocent bystanders who were minding their own business when faulty construction caused the tower to collapse. He makes clear the people didn’t die because they were sinners or God thought they deserved it. No, all of us are subject to the evils of a broken world.

He tells us that people who die from tragedies or at the hands of violence or natural disasters aren’t any worse sinners than the rest of us who are still living. The earthquake in Haiti wasn’t a result of past sins, those who died in 9/11 weren’t getting what they deserved as a result of feminism or glbt rights; cancer patients didn’t bring it on themselves; hurricane Katrina wasn’t divine punishment; all of these are tragedies that make God weep right alongside us.

But he doesn’t stop there. Next Jesus says to them, says to us: Repent or perish. Repent or perish. Those dreaded words that make us want to turn the other way, run in the opposite direction. Why does he use these shocking words in this moment?

He’s calling us to focus on our own lives, what we can control, who we can control—and the only people we can control are ourselves. He’s telling us that in light of knowing the world is a broken and chaotic place, we can either keep looking in vain for answers and blaming others or God, OR, we can examine our own lives and do what we can to better follow Jesus.
Repent, he tells us, turn around your lives. Turn from blaming everyone else to examining your own spiritual life. Turn from calling others sinners to focusing on what you can change within. Turn from trying to manage everything and everyone to loving yourself and others.
Repent. Because if you don’t, you will be caught up in a vicious cycle of always trying to be in control, which lead to our own perishing.
It’s easy to condemn the street preachers and the alarmist novelists who want to control God and tell us we’re going to Hell; When they say: “repent or perish” It’s natural to run the other direction. But when we look a little more closely, I think that what they are doing, even if it’s not right, is trying to control a world that is not, ultimately, in our control. The world is a scary place: tragedies happen; good people die; economies crash; children go hungry. It feels chaotic, and we don’t know how to find answers. We think that if somehow, we can place the world’s mysteries into manageable boxes we can control, we’ll feel better, if only temporarily. So we construct worldviews that posit God is on our side, sinners go to hell, and we go to heaven. It makes us feel a little less shaky when we claim certainties about God. And it’s not just the street preachers or alarmist novelists who want to control God: we do it too. We try and put faith into a box we can manage, control, and understand.

But if Jesus can’t explain away evil with a pithy line or two, if even he doesn’t tell us why bad things happen to good people, then we certainly can’t explain it. And yet, we as humans, try. We try to explain the mysteries of life, blaming the Galileans for sins, wondering if our mother got cancer because God doesn’t favor us, or we’re unable to have a child because God is somehow punishing us…we try to explain the mysteries of life.

We may not try to blame natural disasters on the sins of the people, as Pat Robertson does, but we try to take control of what is God’s to control. We try to blame other people when things aren’t going our way, we try to control other people’s actions or behaviors, we get self-righteous about those who are different than we are, and we minimize their beliefs. We think that if we over-control our lives, scheduling every moment, we’ll be immune from tragedy.

And when we begin to think we control situations and others, when we start to assume that the Galileans died because they were sinners, Jesus breaks in and says: Stop. Stop trying to control the universe. Stop thinking you have all the answers. Stop looking for someone or something to blame. Stop focusing on everything and everyone but your own self. Your own soul. Stop.

And repent. Turn around your own life. This, my friends, my followers, my sheep, you can control. control what you can control, and let God be God. Turn around your life, stop trying to control everybody else’s. Take care of your own life, instead of blaming everyone else, and you will thrive. You will not perish.

So during Lent, 3 weeks in, our challenge this morning is to ask ourselves to take a close look at our lives, figure out what we can control and what we can’t, and start living our life accordingly. We have choices in life….we can make good choices, over and over again, and still a tower might fall on us. Or our mother gets cancer. Or our lover leaves us. Or an earthquake hits. We can’t control the universe.

But we also know that life is fragile and temporary, so while we’re here, we can make choices that make our lives and others lives better. And this is what repentance is about: turning towards God, following Jesus, and turning away from all the energy we spend trying to take control. All the energy we spend trying to be God.

The best news is, we don’t do this work during Lent, or anytime, alone. Because after Jesus tells us to repent, he tells us a parable about a tree that needs some turning around. The world has given up on the tree, the gardener is ready to chop it, and Jesus says: give that tree a chance. Even when we feel barren and lifeless and worthy of being chopped down, Jesus tells us that we have lots of potential.

He gives us countless chances to turn our lives around, and fertilizes us as we embark on this journey. Here’s the difficult truth: It’s not going to be easy or pretty, and we’re going to have to get dirty in order for the fruit to grow. Jesus makes it clear that if we want to grow, if we’re ready to repent, he’s right there; but we have to be willing to let that manure into our lives…it will be hard to touch, it doesn’t smell good, and there will be moments when we want to give it all up…but when we are afraid to wade in the muck of our live and instead always focus on other people, trying to control what we can’t control, we won’t grow—not closer to God, not closer to others, not closer to ourselves.

But if we’re bold enough to let ourselves be fertilized, to withstand the smells during Lent…we will find that by Easter, we will have grown, our limbs will stretch towards the light, and we will bear fruit. So when we take time to look at our addictions, we don’t blame others but instead call on Christ to give us strength; when we notice that the branches of our relationships are thin, we stop trying to blame and change others, and take steps to reach and out forgive, empowered by the love of Christ. We name the ways we overwork and distract ourselves from silence, and allow ourselves the shocking step of finding time just to be. We recognize we can’t change what happened in the past, and stop dwelling there, and instead move forward by making a difference in the lives of others who need a listening ear right now. We let God be God, and we work on changing our own lives.

Repent or perish. These are shocking words, indeed. But maybe they are exactly the words we need to shock us out of our complacency, our desire for control, and our temptations to be God. We need to be told to let look inward and let ourselves be fertilized…to roll around in the dirt and the muck and yes, the manure, so that we open ourselves to mystery and love and new life. We have a choice: We can run in the other direction, ignoring this call, or we can repent. May these shocking words awaken us this Lent to turn around our lives, to grow, and to thrive. So that on Easter Sunday, we will know and believe, that through Christ, the resurrection, we will never, ever perish.

Intentional eating has been harder for me than I thought it would be. Actually, I thought it was going to be easy. It’s just food after all and it’s just forty days. Not a problem… Right? Not so much.

While some days have been easier than others, there hasn’t been a day in which I haven’t been challenged.  Does the restaurant have a vegetarian option? Should I support a local grocery store even if the produce isn’t locally grown?  How about the families that can’t afford healthier or locally grown food?  Like most things, I am finding that paying attention to the ethics behind my choices has led to more questions and there isn’t always an easy answer.

There have been some nice moments, though.  A trip to the grocery store that felt spiritually infused.  Baking bread. Discovering that I actually like tempeh.

And then there have been the other moments…

During the first full week of Lent, I got a cold. My partner offered to pick up some matzo ball soup from The Bagel on his way home and I told him that would be awesome. Ten minutes later, I remembered that my plan for intentional eating didn’t include chicken broth.  I ate the soup anyway.  A few nights later, we went to see a movie and I gave in to my temptation and got a box of gummie bears. Work was giving me a miserable headache last week and I decided that I needed a cold bottle of Coke.

The hardest part for me has been remembering the purpose behind my commitment. I wrote in my first post that my goal was to find ways to remember the gifts from God. I haven’t really found a way to do that yet. In fact, I didn’t offer thanks to God once before eating today.

Changing what I’m eating hasn’t changed how I’m eating yet. I am still caught up in the day-to-day during most of my meals and quick to forget the nourishment that God is providing.

As I write this post tonight, I am trying to remember that Lent is a season and not a get rich quick plan. The discipline that I’ve chosen to take on isn’t going to change my habits over night or make every moment more sacred. Disciplines don’t work that way. For now, I’ll take a moment here and there and try again tomorrow.

I’m not going to lie. I was hungry during this week’s Wednesday fast. I mean really hungry. I was really really really looking forward to dinner pretty much all day. But more on that in a bit.

Thankfully, this week I was again able to follow largely the same routine I had the week prior: Up early. No food. Prayer & Bible reading. No food. Mid-day worship service. No food. HC open sanctuary. And then that glorious thing, dinner. You see the theme here. I had food on my mind quite a bit.

But other things, too, managed to filter through. Reading Luke again first thing in the morning, I read the part where Pilate has Jesus in custody and calls everyone together to tell them he’s looked things over and can’t find any evidence of this Jesus guy actually inciting a rebellion like all the people accused him of. I’ve probably read or been read that passage dozens of times, but this time I thought to myself, “Hey wait a minute, Pilate got it wrong. Jesus kind of was guilty of causing a pretty big disturbance in the status quo of how people lived, what they thought about community, government, etc– a rebellion if you will.” Once I heard a speaker at a Christian peace/justice conference talk about how to “take up and carry your cross” daily really meant to commit to living as a rebel in the name of Christ. I was reminded of how trying to be a disciple of Christ is serious stuff. We’re not messing around here. Except a lot of the time that’s exactly how I behave– as if I’m casually ascribing to a club that has certain beliefs. Ugh. That’s why this practice of spiritual discipline is so important.

Speaking of discipline, when I went over to the Chicago Temple’s noon time worship service during my lunch hour, we sang an awesome hymn by Charles Wesley “I Want a Principle Within.” Check out the first verse:

I want a principle within of watchful, godly fear,
A sensibility of sin, a pain to feel it near.
I want the first approach to feel of pride or wrong desire,
To catch the wandering of my will, and quench the kindling fire.

If Charles Wesley’s other six thousand hymns (seriously 6,000) don’t already prove it, here is an example of a guy who takes his faith seriously. I want a principle within of watchful, godly fear. I want to be that present to God and the Holy Spirit such that I feel my sinful wandering in the deepest part of my soul and allow God to catch and correct it. Incredible.

As I may have mentioned above, I was hungry throughout the day. I was still ok energy-wise, and my stomach cooperated pretty darn well really. But compared to last week, this Wednesday I thought about being hungry more often, and thought about how great dinner was going to be. The fact that Amy and I were going out for an uncharacteristic weekday outing to Flat Top may have contributed to this I suppose. However, we always cook up delicious meals here at the Schumacher household, so I don’t know if the promise of all-you-can-eat Flat Top made much of a difference.

In any case, I was very conscious of how I was hungering in a major way. In this case for food. People talk about hungering for God. And I guess I’ve historically thought of that idea along the lines of loving God and feeling at home in your faith community and wanting to live out the Gospel, etc. All of that is great stuff. But maybe that’s not real hungering. The feeling I had in anticipation of dinner Wednesday night was kind of intense and all-consuming (at least as far as earthly things go). A true hungering for God has got to be like a million times more intense, right? I like to think I’m seeking God most of the time (though even that is wishful thinkin). But hungering for God? I don’t think I can claim that after fasting this week.

Someone told me once that discipline is the art of remembering what you really want. It doesn’t seem to help yet with (not) eating cookies after dinner, but it has helped me these last few days with yoga. I remember that I want to be found and found out by God. I remember that for me, yoga stretching and breathing well open a space for letting God draw near. So on all but two days since Ash Wednesday, I have found 20 minutes for yoga.

Since small group this past Monday, I’ve added a breath prayer: in with “Create in me” and out with “a clean heart, O God.” (Psalm 51:10). Also, since our group conversation about the challenge and blessing of silence, I have subtracted the flute of Carlos Nakai, in favor of house-silence during my yoga sequences. Without the slow repetitive music, I am distracted by more things and thoughts. I notice the spot on the carpet. I return to my breath prayer. I need to blog today. I return to my breath prayer as I continue to move and stretch. Thinking “a clean heart” brings to mind a resentment I’ve felt for a couple of months. I wonder if I can let it go. I return to my breath prayer again and again. And eventually I let everything go and just do and focus on this one thing. Moving and breathing and praying in the gentle flow of God’s grace.

I’d already decided not to count yoga sequences. So I follow advice of an aerobics teacher, who could be speaking for God: “Don’t count, just do a lot of them!”

In the past, when I’ve begun disciplines like prayer (meditation and yoga), being consistent has been tough. I try to work out something sustainable, but life doesn’t hold still. Maybe it’s partly because I have a different work schedule every week, so regular habits, except for the basics, are hard to maintain. This time, though, with an awesome yoga-breath prayer practice, and a small group, as well as a blog where I’ve announced my intention to the whole world, I feel like I may be on to something: “covenantly” practicing this discipline, so God can help me clean up.

We are a Reconciling Congregation, celebrating the full inclusion of all persons in the life of the church, regardless of sexual orientation or gender identity. In fact, in 2010 we celebrate our 20th anniversary of being Reconciling, which we will celebrate throughout the month of June. What a joy to be part of a community that models Jesus’ love for all people.

However, we lament that The United Methodist Church has laws in place restricting the full participation of GLBT families in the life of the church, including prohibiting the celebration of same-sex marriages by clergy and on local church property. Therefore, over a year ago, Holy Covenant formed a Taskforce on Christian Marriage to explore how we could bless and recognize all covenanted relationships-both gay and straight. After study, discernment, prayer, and faithful work, the taskforce has created a DRAFT policy on Christian marriage.

This draft policy proposes that no marriages, gay or straight, will take place in the Holy Covenant sanctuary, nor will they be performed by the pastor. The exchange of vows, rings, and/or legal marriage will happen outside of our property. Then, a worship service that reaffirms the covenant will take place in our sanctuary, with our community.

We want your feedback on this policy. Please sign-up for one of 12 listening sessions happening in the city in small group formats. Take a moment to sign-up here, right now.

Your input, perspective, and prayers are integral to this church community and to this process. At each session, you will be able to read the draft policy, discuss, ask questions, and pray. The goal is to gain feedback and for you to be heard; no policy will be adopted or voted on at this time. We want to make sure all people in the church are able to voice their perspectives. We will have an all-church conversation on the policy on Sunday, April 18, after the 11:15 service. Please mark your calendars and join us for this conversation.

Many thanks to David Braden, who leads this taskforce with Christian witness and strong leadership, and to the members of the taskforce. If you have any questions, concerns, or feedback, please don’t hesitate to be in touch with David or me. I want to be a resource for you during this time of discernment and am here to provide a safe space for you to be heard. Most of all, please be in prayer for our church (both local and global) during this process.

See you on Sunday, and think about who you can bring with you.

Grace and Peace,
Kate

by Dale Jones

After the first week of Lent, I was feeling pretty good about my spiritual practice. I had worked in a brief devotional and prayer time each day – almost. I had carved out time several days for some exercise.

In the second week of Lent, the progress that had me feeling a little bit successful went to a hot place in a hand basket. With a crazier-than-usual schedule, I skipped both my daily quiet time and my jogging session with the treadmill. My schedule, or perhaps my time management, worsened rather than improved, and I missed a second day.

Several days into the second week of Lent, my primary exercise activity had been dashing from building to building as I was late for meetings (admittedly more intense than jogging, but of too short duration for any spiritual or physical value). The closest thing to meditation and quiet time had been pondering how to recover from an inadvertent but serious omission on the job. An outsider examining my life over these several days would have doubtlessly concluded that apparently my Lenten practice was to give up these activities and traits, among others: adequate sleep, meeting deadlines, and presence of mind.

Then the time arrived for a previously planned trip to Tennessee, to work with my brother on a project we undertake about this time every year. As fate had it, the spouse of a Tennessee cousin died a couple days before I left Chicago, and so I attended her memorial service while I was there. This unplanned family occasion provided a mental and spiritual reset for me.

Brenda had struggled with multiple chronic illnesses for years, but continued to remain upbeat and to encourage those in family, her church and workplace communities. Over the last year and a half, the diseases progressed in severity, to the point of taking her life. As symptoms and pain increased harshly in her final months, her ready smile, abiding faith, and perseverance seemed all the more remarkable. Brenda had demonstrated some key truths of living even as she was dying. I realized – again – that I have a priorities problem.

So it is another week, and another chance for me to attempt to turn my sine-wave Lenten practice into a line with a more steadily increasing slope.

Grace and Peace,
Dale

by Maggie Roth

“Has it ever struck you that the trouts bite best on the Sabbath? God’s critters tempting decent men…” – Sir J.M. Barrie (creator of Peter Pan)

I’d love to tell you that our family’s attempt to keep the Sabbath last weekend was an uplifting and joyous experience, which brought us closer to God and unlocked an inner spirituality we didn’t know we had. Birds started singing, the clouds parted, and rainbows sprouted from our rooftop.

But…that would be a lie. Truthfully, Sabbath was difficult for us this weekend. (I’ve been dreading even writing this post because it means public acknowledgement of our thwarted efforts.)

Last week, once again, sickness struck our household – this time my husband Mike was hit by a stomach virus. We did make it to church on Sunday morning, but by the early afternoon, Mike had quarantined himself down in the basement and I was left with the kids by myself upstairs; not so different than every day of my life as a stay-at-home mom.

But to make matters worse, Mike’s work schedule has been grueling and he had to work from home on Sunday (not Sabbath-y) while he was sick. And to make matters even worse, I caught him playing video games while he was lying on the couch (very, very un-Sabbath-y!).

It was not a good day.

You see, as a stay-at-home mom, I LIVE for the weekends. Not that I don’t love spending time with my children, but most of us parents who stay at home are desperate for adult interaction, time away from kids, and, at the very least, some help wrangling our offspring. To have to parent by myself on a weekend is an automatic ticket to frustration. Not only were we not celebrating our families and God’s presence in our life, we weren’t even getting half of a regular weekend, because Mike was wiped out and I was dealing with kids solo.

I had a bad attitude on Sunday and I fully admit that. Story of my life, I thought, as I dragged through the afternoon, chasing after two children while Mike lay on the couch downstairs. Story of my life. Sabbath ended at 6 p.m. I put the kids, ran to get Mike some medicine at Walgreens, and then went to bed with a headache.

But here’s the thing… the thing that I have to come to terms with. It IS the story of my life. Bouts of sickness are still going to hit us (after all, we live with a toddler), work will always find a way to invade our personal time, and my frustrations and anxieties will likely continue drive a wedge between me and God. Yes, of course, it’s the story of my life – it’s the story of modern life in general.

That’s why we can’t give up on keeping the Sabbath. It’s why we are going to do it better this Sunday, and take back the time that we lost this past weekend. God wants us to keep trying, even when the frustrations and worries and tedious tasks of life invade.

So that’s what we’ll do. This weekend will be our do-over. Thank you, God, for granting us do-overs every day. How lucky we are to be loved by you.

by Vicky Nabors

This is my first time ever actively participating in the Lenten season tradition, and it has been a deeply rewarding and humbling experience. Walking in the wilderness with Jesus, and aligning myself to his experiences during those 40 days and 40 nights, are strengthening my resolve. It seems like the most difficult part of my journey occurred over the first two weeks. Not to say that I won’t be challenged going forward, because I’ve only begun to tap into the source of my colorful language. And, I’m happy today that the intense meltdowns that became a part of my days at the start of my Lenten journey have waned. I was getting on my own nerves with all that bawling. No kidding! Now, I anxiously move on to all the tomorrows of this wonderful season. I love anything that results in my positive growth, as I’m a student of life. I can actually feel it already; I think I’m a bit taller.

So I was having a little chat with God the other day. And during this chat, I was keenly aware of all the invisible wounds on my body and in my soul; so I asked Him, “Why?” Well, let’s just say His response was, “Why not!” So many clichés can be used here like: “Those things that don’t kill you will only make your stronger!” Or, “No pain, no gain!” Blah blah blah. I will refrain from the use of clichés, because the answer really doesn’t matter. I’ve concluded that it’s not for me to understand the many aspects of my pain at this point in my life; only to believe and have hope. It’s easier that way. My favorite book supports that sentiment with this statement, “Whatever has happened to you has already happened. The important question is … what now?” (Wherever You Go There You Are by Jon Kabut-Zinn). The “what now,” part of this statement centers on release and focusing on today.

Forgiveness for me was always a given. It was a practice I learned as a child from my mom. She always said I’d feel better if I forgave other kids for doing bad stuff to me; so I did, and she was right! As a result, I’ve forgiven many offenders over the course of my life, learned from those events, and moved on. What I never thought about was actively giving the pain from those events to my Father in Heaven, in addition to giving forgiveness to others. It makes lots of sense when I think about it now. In the past, whenever I forgave a person for some injustice, I experienced immediate spiritual and emotional gratification. But over time, the pain of that injustice would come back and haunt me. What I understand today, is that to be totally liberated of emotional pains, one must first forgive, and then give the resulting pain to the Holy Creator. It’s a two-part process. Awareness with knowledge is a beautiful thing.

I’m sure my blog from last week generated a variety of emotions in you, the reader. Well, it is my unfortunate story. Know that the purpose of my sharing was not to generate sympathy, place blame, or discontent. I shared because it’s a story about hidden pain, and the effects of that pain on the direction of one’s life. Unfortunately, too many of us can identify with this debilitating state of being; hidden pain. Pastor Kate talks about this subject quite often. Your story may be family dysfunction or frustrations, not fitting in, health struggles, rejection, etc. Whatever the case, the effects of hidden pain will always have a negative impact our happiness.

So, as I traveled through week two of Lent, I was forced to face my hidden pains head on. I’ve learned a lot about myself that I was unaware of. The most powerful awareness of self was discovering that I’ve been viewing the world through my anger and pain born in the 1960s. I thought I was looking at the world as it is; but I was not. This coming week, my goal is to remove those lenses…frightening. Overall, this Lenten journey is feeling like freedom.

“Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.” (1 Thessalonians 5:16-18)

In taking on prayer as a spiritual discipline this Lent, I’ve really begun to delve deep into what it means to pray, and what we are told about prayer through the Bible. Thankfully, the Scriptures are chock full of examples of prayers, commands about prayer, and uses of prayer.

The apostle Paul (whom I have a tenuous relationship with) urges the church at Thessalonica, and us, to “pray without ceasing.” But is that really possible? I’m going to go out on a limb and say that, for me, it is nothing short of an impossibility. I mean, I have a life I need to lead—I couldn’t possibly spend all day in constant prayer. So how does one accomplish this task of praying without ceasing?

This questioning led me to a prayer practice that we discussed in my small group: “flash” prayer. To practice flash prayer, just simply go about your day and pray for the people that you encounter along the way. Your eyes don’t have to be closed; you don’t have to say anything out loud—just remain in an attitude of prayer and pray for the situations and individuals that you come across. After learning more about flash prayer, I thought I would give it a try this week.

The interesting thing about prayer is that it is truly transformative. People and situations that I routinely encounter in my life take on new meanings. In praying for the homeless man who asks me for change on the way to the train, I ask that God would not only meet his physical needs but his spiritual ones. In passing the methadone clinic I ask that God would deliver those people from the chains of addiction. I bless and pray for the safety of the schoolchildren who play outside the Boys and Girls club on my street. I pray for my friends, ask God to bless them, and thank God for the blessings they are in my life. When I can’t find the words to pray, I know that the Holy Spirit prays on my behalf with “sighs too deep for words.” (Romans 8:26)

I find that in response to this focus on prayer, I have started to change as well. As I continue to learn to pray I find that my perspective on people and situations changes. Short-term rewards are tempered with long-term vision: the eternal is emphasized over the ephemeral. I am more open to opportunities to pray for people, to bless people, and to be blessed. I wonder what it would be like if we all walked around praying for each other. Could we change the world by performing prayer on the run? I believe that we can.

Amen.