lent readings, week 6

To hear Brandi read this week’s essay, click here: https://youtu.be/XOcShIQlAeM

Spring has sprung. There are new buds on every tree, warmer air and more light as our days wind down. When the natural world comes alive, it beckons us to join in the fun. It is refreshing, isn’t it?

Confession: I find it disorienting. I’m vaccinated, my kids are in school again for the first time in over a year, and the beauty of new life thrives nearly everywhere I look. I should feel hopeful, eager for new beginnings. Nevertheless, I mostly feel like a miscast extra in a movie about beaches and flowers and fun. I am the Eeyore in the Hundred Acre Wood. That’s not exactly right. I don’t feel only sad or gloomy. I just don’t feel like Spring has sprung inside of me. Resurrection might take a while.

 I witness the glory of our earth rebirthing itself in relentlessly miraculous, effortless ways. But I don’t resonate. I see it. I want to feel it. But I’m not quite there. I acknowledge my own disconnect in hopes that it gives you a place to land if you feel the same way. How do the blossoms and the 50 shades of green land on you?

For the follower of Christ, Easter celebrates resurrection, and it is easy to think suffering that ends in victory is the whole story. From my vantage point, Easter reminds me of a lot of other truths too, not the least of which is the importance of Embodied Solidarity. Theologically, this term connotes the incarnational work of Christ. Simply put, the God of the Bible was ultimately unwilling to “stay out of it.” Indeed, as Eugene Peterson writes, God “became flesh and blood and moved into the neighborhood,” so that we could see His “glory with our own eyes,” inviting us to trust God’s claim that He knows, loves, and will not abandon us. Jesus, the man, is God, incarnated. This is good news.

It is also costly news. Embodied Solidarity is not just a gift to us, it is an invitation for us. We weep with those who weep. We comfort those who mourn. We speak up for those abused. We sacrifice our own comfort for the restitution of others. We lament injustice and know it robs our neighbors of joy. I think this is why Spring is not springing easy. I am gutted for our Asian American friends. They have been maligned, mocked, blamed and now killed by folks who think they honor God. I embody solidarity with these friends, and joy is hard to find right now.

When you love hurting people, the hurt tends to rub off on you. I hurt for kids who feel confused about their identities or belonging as they begin to re-enter friendships. I hurt for women who have lost or left their jobs in order to keep their kids alive at home. I hurt for Black brothers and sisters who believed things were different this summer, and now feel betrayed by folks who would rather rant about Critical Race Theory than honor the experience of a fellow human. I hurt for the families of front line workers and victims of COVID-19, whose trauma is lasting. I still feel the dying that came with so much hate, so many lies, so much blame in the last few years. Embodied solidarity knits us together so that I can’t be ok if you aren’t ok.

And yet, joy abounds. Lifting my eyes to the beauty around me helps, even if it hurts a little too. The earth offers evidence that our lives are not linear. The God who made trees die a little so they could be reborn a lot also made you and me. We are cycling through, finding hope and despair simultaneously, finding healing and new hurt at the same time. Feeling joy even when we know pain all too well.

If Spring’s outrageous new life makes you wince, just take a breath. New growth out there means new growth can happen in here too. There is room in you to accept what has been and to hope for what might come. As we approach the death and resurrection of Christ, consider how embodied solidarity shows up in you. It is profoundly encouraging to know you are gathered and held and reborn by a God who wants to be with you. This encouragement also invites us to go and do likewise. If you practice embodied solidarity with those who hurt in your community, be gentle with yourself. Spring brings good news, but it might feel a bit jarring to remind yourself to look up and behold the miracle of new life before you.

PS Art helps too. This poem offers us permission to wince and rejoice as we cycle through each part of our lives.

 “Don’t Hesitate”

by Mary Oliver

“If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don’t hesitate. Give in to it. There are plenty of lives and whole towns destroyed or about to be. We are not wise, and not very often kind. And much can never be redeemed. Still, life has some possibility left. Perhaps this is its way of fighting back, that sometimes something happens better than all the riches or power in the world. It could be anything, but very likely you notice it in the instant when love begins. Anyway, that’s often the case. Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid of its plenty. Joy is not made to be a crumb.”

To Ponder:

“The future orientation of Christian time reminds us that we are people on the way. It allows us to live in the present as an alternative people, patiently waiting for what is to come, but never giving up on our telos. We are never quite comfortable. We seek justice, practice mercy, and herald the kingdom to come.”                 -Tish Harrison Warren

“We spend too much time trying to fix the things we don’t like rather than simply reconciling everything to God….But I’ve come to understand that true justice is wrapped up in love…God’s love and justice come together in the redemptive work of Jesus Christ, and we can’t be about one and not the other. They’re inextricably connected.”                                               -John Perkins

To Read:

Mar 24 Ps 9:7-14; 17:6-11

Mar 25 Ps 3:1-5; 21:3

Mar 26 Micah 7:18-20

Mar 27 Ps 28:1-2; 40:1-11

Mar 28 Luke 6:20-31

Mar 29 Ps 102:1-4

Mar 30 Isaiah 54:1-8