Cynthia Helton —
As I begin this, I want to state outright that I am not a member of clergy. I have no theological training – no experience in ministry – no expertise whatsoever in leadership in the institutional church. I say this not to diminish the validity of what I’m about to write; but to express most sincerely that my words as an ordinary person struggling to stay in the light might possibly speak more directly to any reader who is in the same boat as me.
2013 Prayer Card – Christine Sine, Godspace. Photo – Andy Wade
In addition, at first what I write here might seem a bit scandalous; but hopefully – if you stay with me to the end – you may find your own bit of clarity that can help you make sense of questions you may have never voiced.
First though, in way of setting the stage for where I want to go with this, it may be helpful to explain where I’m coming from. I was raised Roman Catholic, but because of “bumps in the road” that ostracized me from the church, I found a ledge to stand on for a number of years in the Episcopal Church.
As life will do, especially as the autumn years turn to winter, circumstances and limitations often make room for introspection – sometimes opening up cracks in the validity of everything you’ve believed. At least, that’s what happened to me – especially when it comes to organized religion.
Because I’m blessed with a wise Anam Cara, a soul friend who is also my Spiritual Director, I listened when God used him to make this simple suggestion: “When you lose your way, go back to your roots.” This, coupled with Pope Francis’ compassionate invitation to those of us who have been estranged from the Roman church to return, I’m giving it a try – albeit from a guarded position.
The Roman Catholic Church, like many denominations, is an extremely symbolic church. All the “bells and smells,” the visual aids of contemplation found in statues and crucifixes, the liturgy and music are tools meant to accentuate our experience of God in the time we’re sitting in the pews. For most of my life it worked too; but the time came when I just needed more.
As oftentimes is the case, an inner quest for something more meaningful starts out with judging and criticizing. Case in point: I started to shrink from things that would draw attention; that could be used to “advertise” Christianity; that could showboat the “outside of a person’s cup” while the dregs of ego settled to the bottom. Even the simple act of wearing a cross around my neck felt arrogant, showy, even “vulgar.” A sign or bumper sticker on a car … forget about it!
But then, as God does, something came over me – right in the throws of my hysterical judgmental “hissy fit” …which I was almost enjoying. Trying to have some semblance of a Lenten observance, I came across an explanation of the crucifixion that knocked the wind out of my sails. To quote Richard Rohr:
The compassionate holding of essential meaninglessness and tragedy, as Jesus does on the cross, is the final and triumphant resolution of all the dichotomies that we ourselves must face in our own lives.
In other words, all the suffering we encounter, whether by our own choices or as the result of the brutality of the free will of others; all the tragedy that comes from the realistic and inevitable result of forces outside our control (illness, birth defects, natural disasters), are all held in an embrace – depicted in the outstretched arms of Jesus hanging on the cross. Jesus, in my opinion, was not a sacrifice of an innocent lamb to a vengeful god! He did not “pay the price” for our sins! His life was not a “ransom” for our own!
[Stay with me here just for a few more lines.]
Jesus suffered all the horrendous treatment by both the religious leaders as well as the Romans who actually put him to death to exemplify the truth that we never “read to the end of the story!” We get so caught up with the details, we miss the “connector” …the bridge that actually leads to resurrection: His then … ours now. Jesus’ arms are embracing his accusers and torturers with compassion that was “chosen.” In that choice, all bitterness and anger dissolve.
His purpose for dying on the cross was to show us that by accepting the paradoxes and sufferings of life with compassion, we will be free – we will be “saved” to live a new life of resurrection. This isn’t some “pie in the sky” notion that we will welcome trouble or tragedy into our lives with open arms! We will still be sad or devastated or angry or afraid (surely in his humanness, Jesus was all that and more!) …. but with the intention of accepting what’s on our plate with compassion, we will make it through – we will know resurrection – we will experience the love of God – and we will be “resurrected” many times before our lives on this earthly plane are over. To me, this is the purpose of why Jesus lived – and died.
Truly it is God’s grace that gives us the urge to have that intention in the first place; but how often we brush aside the “Butterfly” from our sleeve … run from the “Hound of Heaven” … crouch low to avoid the “Wind of the Wild Goose.” It’s so very easy to miss God’s promptings. In my own case, how very shallow and egotistical my view has been.
Perhaps, though, I needed to be that way so that in finally recognizing my ignorance – by looking at it with compassion now that a better way has been revealed to me – I can truly begin to cherish the “cross” in whatever form I find it. Whether it is on the back of a truck – the median of a highway – the wall of a church – hanging around someone’s neck …. wherever! … it will cause me to pause; to take a breath and remember to embrace my own life’s paradox with compassion as I walk along the way toward my own resurrection.
The Rev. Rachel K. Taber-Hamilton —
Riding bareback, the young Lakota warrior drove his dappled horse at a dead run towards me. I paused in my walk along the wide grassy swatch cut through the field leading towards the tributary to the Missouri River and quickly stepped off the trail. As horse and rider thundered past me, I called out,
Clergy Prayer Action at Oceti Sakowin Camp, November 3, 2016.
“What’s happening?” Shouting back to me over his shoulder, the young man answered with urgency, “What’s happening is crazy! Go! Go and help! Please help!” As his horse galloped onwards towards the Oceti Sakowin Camp, the young warrior continued crying out to anyone and everyone within hearing, “Help! Help them! Everyone go to the river! Please help!”
The morning of November 2, 2016 had begun in a fairly mundane way. I was one from among 524 clergy, representing multiple faith traditions, who were gathering in response to an invitation by The Rev. John Floberg, Rector of St. James Episcopal Church in Cannon Ball. We were coming together in order to participate in an interfaith prayer action, protesting the building of the Dakota Access Pipeline [DAPL] within the historic treaty lands of the Standing Rock Sioux Tribe in North Dakota.
For the previous two nights, I had been sleeping in St. Luke’s Episcopal Church in Fort Yates. When I reluctantly extricated myself from the warm cocoon of sleeping bag on the morning of the 2nd, I became aware that sometime during the course of the night I had made the decision to stay at the Oceti Sakowin Camp for the coming evening so that I would already be in camp for the clergy gathering on the following morning.
A good night’s sleep on the floor of a church sanctuary had apparently diffused any lingering concerns I may have had about staying in camp. I was raised to be a “good girl” and a “good Indian,” so the idea of challenging state and national governmental agencies does not come readily to me. I had been taught to have the best of all possible relationships with police, to see them as friends who would help me in times of need. However, I fall into the category of being raised as an “urban Indian” as compared to a “reservation Indian.” Life is different on the rez, since by conception a federal reservation is an area of land reserved for tribes under treaty where the federal government holds title to the land in trust on behalf of the tribe. However, every single one of the more than 700 treaties with Native Americans has been broken by the US government at some point or another. Every. Single. One.
Environmental racism refers to socially marginalized racial minority communities which are thought to be subjected to disproportionate exposure of pollutants, the denial of access to sources of ecological benefits (such as clean air, water, and natural resources), or both. Mineral and resource extraction on Native lands have jeopardized ecological and communal health with each successive century of colonialism and its subsequent ongoing practices of environmental racism.
The 1851 Treaty of Ft. Laramie between the U.S. government and nine Indian tribes (including the Standing Rock Sioux Reservation) shows that the DAPL pipeline cuts through the middle of the treaty boundary. However, the lines of the reservation started changing without Sioux approval in the mid-1800s, after gold was found in the Black Hills. At that time, the US Congress passed a number of unilateral statutes that altered the boundaries of the reservation, effectively confiscating the land.
The Dakota Access Pipeline’s original route called for the pipeline project to cross under the Missouri River north of Bismark. However, the original route was rejected because of the pipeline’s potential threat to Bismarck’s water supply. The route was then changed to cut through the Sioux treaty area, to endanger the tribe’s water supply instead.
Before arriving at camp on November 2nd, I packed my gear into my rental car and drove to Cannon Ball where I spent the morning helping to organize the supplies necessary to feed the 524 clergy who would be gathering the next day for prayer. After my work was competed at St. Jame’s, I drove into the Oceti Sakowin Camp.
Within minutes of my arrival, I heard an announcement from the fire circle that the camp elders were placing the camp on lockdown, which meant that no one could leave or enter – for their own protection. Apparently, an unscheduled action was taking place on the northeast edge of camp. The night before, Water Protectors had built a makeshift bridge across a river tributary in order to reach a hill called Turtle Mountain, an ancestral burial ground upon which state security forces had set up a surveillance station on the previous day. Local Natives wanted to say prayers on behalf of those buried there and negotiate with the security forces to ask if they would move off the burial ground area.
The call went out for aid. After prepping a set of goggles with duct-taped holes (to ward off the effects of tear gas) and making sure I had earplugs with me (to ward off the effects of sound canons), I walked over to observe the action from the near side of the tributary and be ready to receive casualties for transport to the camp’s first aid tent. I was heading to the site, when the young Lakota warrior galloped by with his earnest cries for help. I quickened my pace to a run and reached the tributary river at the foot of Turtle Mountain to behold a stunning sight.
Fifty officers in full body armor and riot gear, armed with large canisters of teargas and guns loaded with rubber bullets, rappelled down the steep near side of the hill, while an armed security boat simultaneously entered the tributary from the Missouri River. Security forces in the boat quickly deconstructed much of the makeshift bridge. However, several unarmed and barely clad Water Protectors began to swim across the tributary, asking for a respite and the opportunity to talk with the officers. In shocked silence, I watched while a new generation of Native youth and young adults experienced the full force of modern day colonialism – and its racism – in the United States of America.
There was no conversation to be had. The young people were met with streams of teargas and directed fire of rubber bullets. The people in the water made no attempt to harm the officers or to come ashore – they stayed in the water of the river, literally at the feet of the officers standing on the land, and tried to ward off the spray and bullets with a ragged blue tarp and small plastic storage bin lids used as shields. The Native youth did not advance, but they would not leave – they kept asking for dialog.
One young Native woman at the edge of the shore and staying in the river, looked up at the officer standing above her and asked, “Why are you doing this?” The officer’s response was to raise his large canister and spay her directly in the eyes with a five second torrent of teargas from a distance of less than two feet. The stream of teargas was so copious that the deluge poured over her head like a milk bath before running down her upper body and into the river in which she was standing.
The woman did not retreat. When the spraying stopped, she dipped beneath the surface of the water and reemerged with her swollen eyes shut, and said to the officer, “You don’t have to do this. We can talk. We have so much in common. We both need water to live.” The officer’s response was to hose her down with another five-second stream of teargas. She did this six more times before returning to the camp side shore, unable to see and unable to feel her legs or hands.
Many people in the water began to succumb to hypothermia and we’re taken to the medical tent in camp. After helping load an unresponsive young man into the cab of a pickup truck, my years of experience as a hospital chaplain contributed to my decision to stay at the medical tent in order to support the medical crew there. The nurses and doctors there were all volunteers. In the midst of the cultural and physical trauma going on around them, the volunteer medical staff knew that they were treating the victims of modern American warfare – one in which the decedents of those who came to these shores seeking freedom continue to afflict the descendants of those who have never really been free since.
The experience at Oceti Sakowin Camp has taught me that issues of racism are at their core issues of relationship, and genuine relationships begin with dialog. Each person that I meet has a life experience different than mine; I must come to know the stranger, if I am going to be of any real help in removing barriers and building bridges. Therefore as a Christian, vulnerably standing within the waters of my Baptism, I am daily compelled to ask, “Can we talk?”
Rachel at the Mount of Olives
The Rev. Rachel K. Taber-Hamilton is rector of Trinity Episcopal Church in Everett, WA and is an ordained priest in the Episcopal Diocese of Olympia (Western Washington). She was the first (known) indigenous person to be ordained in the diocese in 2003. Born and raised in the United States, Rachel’s heritage includes the First Nations Shackan Indian Band of the Nicola Tribal Association in British Columbia, Canada.
CUTHBERT OF LINDISFARNE — c634-March 20, 687 AD
St. Cuthbert’s body found to be incorrupt when his tomb was opened. Illustration from British Library MS Yates Thompson. The 46 full page miniatures include many miracles associated with Cuthbert both before and after his death. Photo from Wikipedia
St. Cuthbert was the much-loved 7th c. Bishop of Lindisfarne who is the patron saint of Northern England. As the seventh Bishop of Lindisfarne, Cuthbert was known for his gentle strength, wisdom, charm, skillful speaking, prayerful life, and devotion to Christ.
Lindisfarne is a tidal island on the coast of Northumberland that is cut off from the mainland by water at certain times of the day. A priory was established on Lindisfarne by Irish monks from the isle of Iona with Aidan as the first Bishop.
We are grateful for The Venerable Bede who was a monk at Jarrow Abbey, one of the twin monasteries of Wearmouth-Jarrow in Northeast England. In the early 8th century he recorded much of England’s early church history in his Ecclesiastical History of the English People that included extensive information on the life of St. Cuthbert.
His Calling
Cuthbert was born about 634 AD and grew up in southern Scotland, near Melrose Abbey. It is said that on the night that St. Aidan, the first Bishop of Lindisfarne died, that Cuthbert saw a vision of Aidan’s body being carried to heaven which led him to sense a call to become a monk.
Soon after that life-transforming vision, Cuthbert became a monk and entered Melrose Abbey. He later transferred to Ripon Abbey and then returned to Melrose Abbey. From there, the 31 year old Cuthbert went to Lindisfarne as Abbot about 665 AD.
As the newly installed Abbot, Cuthbert inherited a significant problem in which he skillfully and prayerfully dealt. Just a few months earlier, the famous Synod of Whitby in 664 AD was held. At that synod, the Celtic way of Christianity represented at Lindisfarne was voted down in favor of Roman Christianity. Colman who was the third Bishop of Lindisfarne and was present at this synod, was so disgusted at the outcome of this important meeting that he left Lindisfarne and took several of his monks with him back to Iona and then later to Inishbofin, Ireland.
Abbot Cuthbert masterfully guided this seismic transition at Lindisfarne from the Celtic way of Christianity to the Roman way. This nerve-wracking time must have been stressful on this Abbot who was more comfortable as a hermit than as a leader. Soon, Cuthbert began to seek the solitude of retreat to renew his spirit. He would often row a little boat to one of the isolated Farne islands about three miles away where he established a small hermitage for himself.
Bishop of Lindisfarne
After serving faithfully as Abbot of Lindisfarne for eleven years, Cuthbert retired in 676 to permanently live on the Inner Farne in his little hermitage. He experienced nine years of peace as a hermit before he was called (begged!) out of retirement by King Ecgfrith and a band of other leaders to become the Bishop of Lindisfarne. He reluctantly accepted this call and was ordained by Archbishop Theodore at York on Easter, March 26, 685, but less than two years later, at Christmas he decided he had enough of a good time and moved back to his beloved Inner Farne.
Cuthbert’s Resurrection Day
Cuthbert predicted his own death and he died on the Inner Farne on March 20, 687. He was buried at Lindisfarne, but in the mid- 800’s to protect his remains from the Viking onslaught his sarcophagus began traveling. He was carried by the monks of Lindisfarne throughout Northumbria.
Cuthbert’s body finally rested for a long while at the church of St. Mary and St. Cuthbert at Chester-le-Street, but his final resting place was Durham Cathedral, where his body still remains in a shrine. It is a powerful experience to sit and contemplate beside Cuthbert’s shrine. Also in Durham Cathedral, one can visit Bede’s shrine.
Treasures in Cuthbert’s Sarcophagus
Bede records that Cuthbert’s simple wooden sarcophagus adorned with primitively carved angels was opened eleven years after he died. The monks found that Cuthbert looked like he was asleep; that his limbs were still flexible, and that his vestments were still in perfect order. He looked like he had just been buried. Bede also wrote of monks being cured at Cuthbert’s tomb.
It is likely that Cuthbert’s tomb was opened several times before 1104 when the relics that were found inside were recorded. In 1104, they found a small book of the Gospel of John, now known as St. Cuthbert’s Gospel measuring only three-and-a-half by five inches. It was incredibly found lying at his head! Even the original goat leather red Celtic bookbinding was still intact. Scholars believe that this was not Cuthbert’s personal gospel book as it was likely handwritten after his death, sometime between 710 and 730 AD. It was probably added to the sarcophagus at an earlier opening of his tomb. This little gospel book formerly known as the Stonyhurst Gospel, was likely penned at the Wearmouth-Jarrow Abbey where Bede spent his life. It was purchased in April 2012 by the British Library for $14.3 million (9 million British Pounds) and is now known as St. Cuthbert’s Gospel book.
Also found during this early 12th century opening of the sarcophagus was a set of 10th century vestments placed by King Æthlestan while on a pilgrimage to Cuthbert’s shrine at Chester-le-Street. These vestments were made of Byzantine silk with a stole decorated with Anglo-Saxon embroidery. Also, in his coffin was a stunning gold, garnet, and shell pectoral cross on his body. In addition, Cuthbert’s personal portable altar table covered in silver was discovered along with a comb, scissors, and an onyx chalice with a gold lion.
At some point Cuthbert’s simple wooden sarcophagus was later encased in a fine coffin covered with gold, silver, and large magnificent jewels. With the Dissolution of the Monasteries in about 1539/1540 King Henry VIII dispatched some of his men including a goldsmith to Durham Cathedral to pry the jewels, gold, and silver off of Cuthbert’s coffin. We can’t help but wonder if Cuthbert was not in some way greatly relieved that those extravagant and ostentatious jewels were now gone from his resting place.
Lindisfarne Gospels
Eadfrith who became Bishop of Lindisfarne in 698 likely produced the magnificent Lindisfarne Gospels that was handwritten and gorgeously illuminated in honor of St. Cuthbert. Current scholarship indicates a date around 715 for the production of the Lindisfarne Gospels.
The original Lindisfarne Gospels are still breathtaking. They are housed in the British Library as one of their most treasured books. The pages of this remarkable gospel book along with the St. Cuthbert Gospel can be viewed page by page on the British Library’s website.
On the 1300th anniversary of Cuthbert’s Resurrection Day, the Lindisfarne Gospels was displayed in Durham Cathedral in 1987. During this anniversary celebration, this sacred gospel book made in Cuthbert’s honor after his death was poignantly laid upon Cuthbert’s shrine for a short while. Also, the Lindisfarne Gospels were displayed once again in 2013 at Durham University’s Palace Green Library.
St. Cuthbert Pilgrimages
St. Cuthbert’s Way, a beautiful 62 mile hike from Melrose Abbey in Southern Scotland to Lindisfarne is a popular walking path through the hilly terrain of the Scottish borders. Pilgrims from all over the world also flock to Durham Cathedral, Lindisfarne, and Melrose Abbey to soak in the presence of St. Cuthbert, this gentle wise Celtic Bishop who still touches our lives 1300 years later.
Cuthbert’s wooden angel-carved sarcophagus along with some of the incredibly well preserved relics from his tomb can be viewed in the Open Treasures area of Durham Cathedral.
Resources: Bibliographical information relevant to the life of St. Cuthbert is available on the author’s Celtic and Anglo-Saxon saints website at www.saintsbridge.org. http://wp.me/p1RMRS-44
by Christine Sine
This morning I spilt wax from my Lenten candle all over the special altar I had so carefully put together for the season. It splattered my palm crosses, made splotches on my rock with “let love speak” written on it, and ran down the front of my plastic tablecloth. It even landed on my fingers painfully reminding me that wax is hot. Of course it also disrupted the orderly pattern of my altar and I have not been able to get it off.
This happened just as I started reflecting on my question for the week: How do we use our freedom to serve others in love? and the splattered wax provided revelation for me. Love splattered on everything I thought, adhering in the most unlikely places, creating beauty in unexpected ways, giving birth to new patterns. That is what freedom is all about.
Love is the candle of God burning in our lives and as it burns the wax melts and tends to run out of the candle and splatter over everything in its path. (unless you have one of those fake electric candles or waxless candles). Random acts of kindness, a smile and unexpected greeting from a stranger, a meal shared with new neighbours, they are all like splattered wax. They adhere to our skin and our lives in unexpected ways. They can be painful because they make us vulnerable, but they free us from the order and rigidity of a life controlled by us rather than by God.
This sharing of love, this seeking after freedom is a messy business that frustrates us and disrupts the orderly patterns of our lives. It adheres to us in ways we don’t always find comfortable. Sometimes it hurts when it lands. Like wax, once the freedom of love has stuck, it is hard to get off. It tells us we are not alone. It connects us to each other. It tells us we look out for each other, we stick to each, we are made to be together.
What Is Your Response?
Sit quietly pondering the love-light of God shining in your life. If possible light a candle and watch the wax melt. Blow the candle out and allow the wax to splatter on your desk or altar, being careful not to burn yourself. Reflect on the pattern it has created.
Ask yourself: Where has God splattered love in life bringing freedom to you and to others? What actions of mine have spread it?
Think about the messiness that the freedom of love has created, the vulnerability and sometimes hurt it resulted in. Try to scrape the wax off yourself and your desk. Contemplate the messiness that results and the challenge of removing it. Love sticks. Love does not want to be scraped off.
Ask yourself: Where has love adhered to my life in ways that have pushed me out of my comfort zones and created messiness? What has been my response?
Prayerful consider your responses to these questions. Write them down, share them with your friends. Now watch the video below – the messiness and pain of freedom that love opens us to is profoundly. Is there a further response that God is asking of you?
Tom Sine —
Celtic cross Iona Scotland
In 1982, I took my first pilgrimage to Iona to experience the new discipline for me of listening for God in one of the holy places. I got more than I bargained for. I not only had a very deep experience of what Celtic Christians call “thin places” where the dimension between this world and the next becomes one.
As a result of that first pilgrimage I became acquainted with Patrick and a number of his friends and followers and it has radically changed my view of what it means to be a follower of Jesus.
At age 16, Patrick was kidnapped from his home in England and was taken by Irish traders as slave to Ireland. He was forced to care for sheep. He learned about the people and Irish culture but being enslaved most importantly he learned a life of prayer was essential to his difficult life.
After 6 years, he escaped and returned to his family. Then God called him to return to Ireland as a missionary. In three decades Patrick and his compatriots saw Ireland become largely converted to Christianity. The Irish, Scots and English were introduced to much more of a whole life faith than was not common then or now.
What I have learned from Patrick, Columba, Hilda, Bridget and Cuthbert is that prayer is not 15 minute break in the day but prayer was intended to permeate all of life. Celtic Christians had prayers for rising in the morning, prayers planting seeds in the day and prayers for banking fires at night.
Celtic Christians not only were devoted to a life of prayer, but a love of God’s creation and a care for the poor. I find younger Christians who are hungry for a more authentic whole life faith are often drawn to Celtic Christian faith.
As we celebrate St. Patrick’s Day, I invite you to join Saint Patrick and the many Celtic Saints in taking time to listen to our God by quietly repeating Patrick’s prayer and listening to what God might say to you.
Christ with me, Christ before me, Christ behind me, Christ in me, Christ beneath me, Christ above me, Christ on my right, Christ on my left Christ where I lie, Christ where I sit, Christ where I arise Christ in the heart of every man who thinks of me, Christ in the mouth of every man who speaks of me, Christ in every eye that sees me, Christ in every ear that hears me.
Comment and let me know what you hear from God as you quietly read Patrick’s prayer and listen for God’s whispers to you.
Tom Blogs at New Changemakers
As I looked over some poems I wrote years ago, this one jumped out at me. What struck me was how I still fight this temptation to remain uninvolved. Sometimes simply recognizing the battle is enough to spur me to action. “Really? You’re even considering ignoring your neighbor?” But more often I’m unconscious, not even noticing the situations, the people, I’ve ignored.
It’s easy to set our lives on autopilot, going through the motions of here and there yet barely registering what’s taken place. When you add into the equation our phones with all of their apps, it’s easy to see how quickly we can slip into the detached life. Perhaps there’s a Lenten discipline of being awake. What might that look like?
This next week I’m going to try to approach life with more alertness, more curiosity, more engagement. I’m going to try to play a game of sorts. I’ll call it, “Awake!” I plan to pay attention to:
- How many new things I can notice in my ordinary day?
- How many people do I make eye contact with? (being careful, as this could easily become really creepy really fast!)
- I could simply say inside my head “God bless you” as I notice each person. Maybe this would cause me to notice more deeply.
- If I’m tempted not to engage a situation, I’ll ask myself why, and then engage anyway. I’ll try to notice
- How does it change me to say yes rather than no?
- How is the other impacted?
- What were my fears, concerns, or other motives for not wanting to engage?
- Where do those thoughts and feelings come from?
Ready to wake up?
Lent.
Speak to me.
A word that holds such hidden depths.
Take me on your hallowed ground,
untouched, and unturned
yet by heart or mind.
Show me your intents,
what you’re yet to unveil.
I wait here still, with bated breath,
to hear your name revealed.
Lent.
Lead me on.
Winter I know is a season
through which we all must pilgrimage
I am told your name means ‘Spring’.
I wait for you to blossom.
Though the deserts an experience,
we all must endure,
Lent teaches us to delve for life
when there’s no evidence of it at all.
For Lent
in truth is life.
And just as we come to our birth,
through a dark passage;
grown to fullness,
hidden from the world.
So Lent teaches us
to sow in tears, and then reap.
To wait in the wilderness,
until Easter springs at our feet.
Ana Lisa de Jong
Living Tree Poetry
Ash Wednesday, 2017
“The desert and the parched land will be glad; the wilderness will rejoice and blossom. Like the crocus…”
Isaiah 35:1
As an Amazon Associate, I receive a small amount for purchases made through appropriate links.
Thank you for supporting Godspace in this way.
When referencing or quoting Godspace Light, please be sure to include the Author (Christine Sine unless otherwise noted), the Title of the article or resource, the Source link where appropriate, and ©Godspacelight.com. Thank you!