Awkwardness Evaporates - Lent 5A

When Martha heard that Jesus was coming, she went and met him, while Mary stayed home.
I can’t help but ponder how awkward was this meeting between Martha and Jesus?
Martha comes outside the village and meets Jesus on the road. She knows that Jesus is aware that Lazarus died because word had been sent, days ago. Jesus knows that Lazarus is dead because he waited a few more days before coming. Imagine: what is Martha thinking, feeling; what is Jesus thinking and feeling?

A little over a year ago, my friend- my brother by choice, died after a fight with cancer. In his last weeks my husband and I were apprized of his declining health; he moved from his home hospital bed to a hospice centre – where a daily watch was kept by those who lived closer than three provinces away.  Thank heavens for cell phones and social media: electronically we were kept informed, we shared prayer posts, texted our love, and felt like we were present in spirit. We made plans, so that we would be ready to travel when needed – the time chosen for us because I was asked by my brother to preach at his funeral service.
When our friend died, we set the plan in motion, arrived in Ontario, and prepared to face his family --- our chosen family. The visitation was in a cathedral, one walked up the side aisle, passed the casket at the front, and then greeted the family, before exiting down the other side aisle.
Waiting in the reception line was ... awkward.
One of my best friends had died, his wife – another best friend, my chosen sister, was waiting; our God-daughter and her brother were waiting, our adopted Finish grandmother was waiting... what was I going to say? How was I going to act? Was it okay that I hadn’t been there for the death? How could I be supportive and grieve at the same time? Was I going to fall apart? Did I feel guilty for living so far away, for not making a point to visit more? Had too much happened in the time since we last saw each other, face-to-face, that our connection was no longer strong? Good gracious.... awkward.

John’s Gospel has Martha go out to meet Jesus.  Their meeting is told as a conversation that starts in a hard-hitting kind of way.  It doesn’t start with the small talk of weather or local gossip. Martha starts off accusingly, if you had been here... And with that spoken, out of the way, the conversation turns to deeper thoughts, words to be seeded as hope amidst grief. Martha affirms, I believe you are the Messiah -the Son of God- the one coming into the world. Jesus and Martha contemplate resurrection, life from death – both later and now.  Satisfied with enough bread for the moment -  Martha goes to get Mary. Jesus remains outside the village where Martha had met him and waits for Mary to meet him there.
Mary rushes out to Jesus.  She kneels at his feet and weeps.

As the reception line in the cathedral shortened, as I wondered if my reaction would be a Martha sort or a Mary sort, as I passed the casket –the awkwardness of the moment evaporated-  in an instant I ended up in an embrace with my sister, an embrace without words that didn’t cease to end. In the silence and the time- standing-still of that embrace --- tears, acceptance, love – nothing had changed; but as we drew away from each other, squeezing each other’s hands, we acknowledged that everything had changed.

Jesus, Martha, and Mary are standing in the road outside the village; awkwardness evaporates, nothing has changed. But, as they pull away from each other, to move towards Lazarus’ grave -Jesus weeps, Jesus is disturbed in spirit, Jesus is deeply moved – walking together they acknowledge that everything has changed.

This is an experience to which many of us relate whether: a spouse dies, employment changes, survive cancer, change gender, become divorced or married, win the lottery, suffer addiction, a family member is imprisoned, adopt a child... all of these circumstances, and so many more, change us, change our relationships, and affect our ability to interact with our church family. In these times, people often withdraw from familiar relationships, stop coming to church, because of the awkwardness of the moment.  In the church community it appears that nothing has changed, but collective experience -because we are in relationship- will tell us that everything has changed.

Our current situation is like the story of Lazarus.
Lazarus is raised from the dead – nothing is the same – everything is made new. All of his relationships are affected. Loss does that. Grief does that. Death does that.

Church as we knew it, in a building and sitting in pews, died two weeks ago. From this death came new life – new expressions of church and virtual Christian community. Death forced a fervour of creation, innovation, and potential possibilities. Churches that were occupied with dwindling finances and inward crisis, moved to look outward.  Nothing -as in faith, theology, scripture, worship, ministry, pastoral care, offering- has changed, but we acknowledge that everything has changed. We are living in new life and in an expectation of the fullness of Martha’s affirmation: I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, the one coming into the world. As virtual church community this affirmation is at the heart of creativity and innovations, brining the one coming into the world – into not just our building, but, into the world.

A colleague shared with a group of pastors earlier this week, that after a death -meaning any kind of loss that causes one to walk through the valley of grief, a valley of dry bones- changes a person such that when life returns to what is considered normal; it is normal but it is a changed normal. This can lead to a certain sadness, an awkwardness– a reserved celebration that we have come out the other side; a reserved ‘Praise the Lord’ all things are new. The first time one sits in a pew, alone, after a spouse dies; the first time, in a long time, when one can go to church and sit beside a family member newly arrived to Canada; the first conversation over coffee when it seems too much time has passed to have anything to talk about; the first Sunday after being away for a month, when all the children have grown and are unrecognizable, when we have forgotten names, and have new babies and their names to learn --- is sadness and awkwardness mixed with joy.

During this time of physical distancing and experiencing the fall-out of COVID-19, each of us has been put in a situation where we are daily confronting our relationship with death. We are living in a valley being scattered with dry bones. We face the possibility of physical death or serious illness. We face death, we face loss, whether in paychecks, lifestyle, pension funds, freedom, a sense of stability, connectedness, physical contact. We are all grieving, parts of life as we know it are dying, and all of us are in the process of being dry bones with new life being breathed around us. When this is over we can expect an awkwardness as we rise in a world where nothing is the same – everything is made new.
The Gospel in today’s scriptures stress that the word of the Lord brings new life to that which was dead; life comes out of death.

I think about this in relation to our virtual worshiping community. For this community we are experiencing a death of sorts – a loss- of eating together each week; sharing the sacrament of the altar. In pastor-world, and in Zoom meetings between Lutheran Bishops and theologians, many conversations have been had over the past two weeks about offering virtual communion; suggesting that if each person watching were to have a piece of bread and a little wine, that the Real Presence, through the words of institution could travel through cyberspace into each home; communion could still happen. Our Bishop has taken a different tact – not that he disputes the ability of the Real Presence to expand beyond our limited understanding of space and time- he suggests that we in a time of Eucharistic Fast. How very Lent.
I’m not sure that any of us who grew up in Canada, except for those who remember rationing during WWII, have been forced to fast.  Human beings are consumptive by nature and when we chose to fast give up something like chocolate or coffee or smoking, or fast a day before medical tests.  This Lent we have been forced into a fast – a fast from creature comforts, whether certain foods or toilet paper; a fast from movement -from going where we want when we want, and doing what we want, when we want; a fast from physical contact and gathering; and now a fast from Eucharist – a fast from the fullness of God’s grace that we experience through this sacrament. Nothing has changed, but, everything has changed.

Whenever Easter happens – that Sunday when we are once again gathered side-by-side in sacred space – in the awkwardness of the moment because we will all come changed because in a variety of forms we have faced death; walked through the valley of dry bones; we arrive at the Eucharistic table together to partake, to eat, to digest,... LIFE –
Some of us will come Martha-like, others Mary-like: there will be accusing thoughts – why did you let this happen?, and deep conversations, and kneeling, and tears; awkwardness will evaporate and in the depths of our loss, through the valley of death and dry bones, we will awake and be filled by the experience of the fullness of God’s grace in bread, wine, and community. LIFE –all will be new!  We will be new! I can’t wait to be resurrected to new life. Until then I hold fast to Martha’s affirmation:

I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, the one coming into the world.
... in your word is my hope.
... with You is steadfast love... and plenteous redemption.
Out of the depths my soul waits for the Lord.

A Matter of What We Do Not See

Things of which we are most afraid, are things we do not see -things to which the naked eye is blind –
We go about blind - forgetting, pretending, pushing away, ignoring-  hidden things that cause sickness, disruption, pain, suffering, grief, and death.
We do not see the presence of viruses and bacteria, toxins and contaminants, on the surfaces we touch or in the air we breathe or in the water we drink. 
We do not see how the decisions we make today will affect -in a global warming, environment in crisis kind of way-  all of creation.
We do not see the tension or level of threat for terrorism, nuclear strikes, or war.
We walk blind.

In church world much time is spent on things we do not see.
Today’s gospel, for instance, goes on and on about sin – trying to figure out who sinned this man or his parents that he was born blind.
The story weaves back and forth through a theological debate of invisible sin that has manifested itself in physical blindness; giving invisible sin a tangibility in a specific place and thing.
The story does not point to actions of sin – named as murder, stealing, adultery, or idolatry. The conversation is of ‘sin,’ the cause beyond the action. The perception in the story is that sin is now seen – it is real; it has manifested in blindness. Likewise, Jesus personifies sin by breaking the rules and healing on the Sabbath. The Pharisees ask, How can a man who is a sinner perform such signs? And continue, We know that God does not listen to sinners, but does listen to one who worships and obeys God’s will -God’s will as directed in the written Law. In the process of defining sin – containing that which we do not see- the Pharisees get lost in the tidbits of figuring out ‘how’ the man received his sight, and are blind to ‘who’ did the healing -Jesus- who has physically disappeared from the scene. He is not present, not seen, until he comes to the man-born-blind afterward.
After the man who received his sight is thrown out of the synagogue, Jesus asks him, Do you believe in the Son of Man? Jesus reveals that he is the Son of Man and he who was blind sees for a second time that day. And we enter another realm of -things we do not see- things that the church spends much time on;  things like faith and grace.

Life has been different for the world over the past few weeks. Reflecting on the world through the story of the blind man – the seeing man-  in the Gospel, has helped me in articulating what I have seen and what I do not see but feel.
We walk blind.

The CORONA virus is acting a bit like a mud and saliva poultice.
 For a moment blind has turned to sight.
Often we walk blind - blind to our relationship with the earth – within a week of reduced traffic and flights flying across Europe satellites have captured images that actually see European cities from space– the air has cleared; sight is not fogged up by a continual production of smog.
Often we walk blind - blind to our relationship with each other – as we practice social distancing and self-isolation or quarantine, there is a realization how much we take relationships for granted. We forget how interconnected we truly are – from farmers, to delivery people, to service people; how many people we share playground equipment with, restaurant seats, public transit, sidewalks.
Often we walk blind - blind to our relationship with God – until we are reminded of our fragility and return, or come for the first time, seeking something greater than ourselves to cope with a reality greater than our capacity. The last time I experienced a visible rise in church attendance was the first couple of Sunday’s after 9/11. People returned to hear the Word, and to join with a community of people who were experiencing the same thing.

When the going is good we walk blind.  We tend to become lax -in washing our hands, protecting those around us; we forget our interconnectedness; and our priorities are eschewed from building relationship.

As we wash the mud from our eyes, let us turn our attention to the Gospel to be found in ‘a matter of what we do not see.’

We believe in God the Father Almighty, Creator of heaven and earth, of all that is seen and unseen.  This is an ancient confession of the church. Church world has always lived in the known and unknown, seen and unseen, visible and invisible. As Christians:

Things of which we are most confident – bold;  are things we do not see- things to which the naked eye is blind –
We go about blind – remembering, revealing, welcoming, acknowledging – hidden things that cause healing, connection, comfort, blessing, hopefulness, and life.
We do not see the presence of Mystery – God: the force of creation, the incarnation of redemption, the energy of consciousness.
We do not see the ‘how’ of the workings of prayer, meditation, and worship.
We do not see faith.
Yet in all these things we do not see – we have utmost confidence through Christ.

We go about blind – remembering, revealing, welcoming, acknowledging – hidden things. I say we go about blind because we are about God’s work, a work that is revealed in its fullness in God’s time. We work in God’s creation, God’s mission, God’s vision – without knowing, without seeing the end.  We offer faith, peace, love, hope, compassion, forgiveness, joy – through words and deeds, knowingly and unknowningly, we plant seeds that come from the light of Christ.
God’s work, from time to time, in our midst turns into God’s work revealed. Although we do not see God, all the time God is with us. There have been moments when people within this community (I know because stories are shared with me) when people have experienced miracles, inspiration, inexplicable occurrences; God-sightings. Just for a moment, greater sight is given and the invisibles like faith grow.  Many have expressed moments when they have experienced grace.  These moments happen wherein we catch a glimpse of God’s fullness and can declare:
 One thing I do know, that though I was blind, now I see.

The things of which I am most afraid are things I do not see.
 The things of which I am most confident and bold, are also things I do not see.
In times like these I purposefully and continually have to redirect my focus to hold onto and uplift the things I do not see in which I am confident – faith, grace, love, Real Presence, God, community, prayer, meditation, worship, relationship -- Living the ‘unseen’ that are reflections of God’s light shining on me relieves anxiety and manages fear. The letter to the Ephesians says it: O blind, awake, rise from the dead, and Christ will shine on you --- and it is the reflection of this light that plants hidden seeds, resists fear, calms anxiety – allows grace to be directed into a world full of blindness.

This morning the Gospel phrase I will take with me is a statement of faith.  It is a statement made by one who walks blind, and in this past week has been shown the depths of blindness into which I participate.
Thanks to a corrective of sorts, I am no longer blind to my relationship with the earth, blind to my relationship and interconnection with others, blind to my relationship with God and God-community.
One thing I do know, that though I was blind, now I see.

May this statement of faith  reflect in the world through me – through us- consciously practicing the invisibles -that which is not seen-  living into the Mystery that is in all and is all.

In times like these

https://www.facebook.com/lutheranworld/videos/518626525694286/

Your Turning to God - A Blessing for the World

I brought with me this morning my pastoral care book.  This book travels with me to the hospital, providing scripture, prayer, and liturgy for confession, anointing with oil, for circumstances like removing life support systems, transplant surgery, emergency baptisms, and commendation of the dying.  It contains liturgy for house blessings and for presiding at marriages. Most often this book travels with me to the cemetery for burials.
The centre pages of the book are protected by mac-tac, so I can proclaim the Gospel and the hope found therein, without my pages turning to mush in rain, snow, or wind. The service gives options for readings and prayers.  Some prayers and readings are specific, like those used if a child is being buried, otherwise , pastors pick and choose based on the family and their own preferences.
After arriving at the grave, words of comfort are proclaimed to the mourners. 95% of the time this is what I say:
I will lift up my eyes to the hills; from where is my help to come?
My help comes from the Lord, the maker of heaven and earth.
The Lord will not let your foot be moved nor will the one who watches over you fall asleep.
Behold the keeper of Israel will neither slumber nor sleep; the Lord watches over you;
The Lord is your shade at your right hand; the sun will not strike you by day, nor the moon by night.
The Lord will preserve you from all evil and will keep your life.
The Lord will watch over your going out and your coming in, from this time forth forevermore.

Of course, this is the psalm we chanted earlier, Psalm 121. At the end of formal responsibilities – the bedside vigil, the service planning, the visiting, the funeral liturgy, the reception- by the time I reach the grave, I need to hear -I need to speak- a word that will heal my grieving heart, warm my troubled spirit, and bolster my expended hope. I receive healing, warmth, and hope in the words of Psalm 121.
The Psalm is simple in its construction.  The person speaking asks a  simple question: “from where is my help to come?” The question is one of seeking, a question that will lead to a journey for an answer. The question is the person opening their heart and turning to a power outside themselves – turning toward God.
The question is followed by a confession, a statement. I wonder if the person states, “my help comes from the Lord,” because that is what they believe, or is it what they desperately want to believe? Is it what they believe sometimes, but, from time to time doubt?  When I recite this Psalm, the statement could be either – it is similar to the creed we say on Sunday morning; a corporate confession of faith that we say to bolster hope, warm the heart – for ourselves, but, perhaps more importantly for the faithful who are finding faith difficult in a particular moment.  I believe in God the father almighty creator of heaven and earth. My help comes from the Lord, the maker of heaven and earth. I acknowledge by speaking these words at a graveside that the Mystery of what is going on is far bigger than I can dream or imagine – the Mystery began in creation, even before creation, there is longevity in this creative force - this gives me hope. 
This Psalm is considered a Song of ascent, meaning it was sung as one journeyed up to the Temple, to give one’s offering, to offer prayers before God. There is some evidence it was sung too, as a spiritual pilgrimage when going to Jerusalem was impractical or impossible. Asking, seeking, -going on a journey outside of oneself- is stated so simply in the Psalm and surprisingly the grace offered is returned a hundredfold. The word of grace given is called in biblical text, a priestly blessing; much like blessing you hear at the end of service, the Lord bless you and keep you, the Lord make his face shine on you, as recorded in Deuteronomy.  Most of the Psalm 121 is a proclaimed blessing – and it grows from a simple question and confession of faith.

Although in a different style of writing, a similar pattern is heard in the text from Genesis.  Abram is invited to go on a journey which is followed by a sevenfold blessing. The text from John’s Gospel is again similar, Nicodemus journeys to Jesus, seeks to understand, with this text portion ending in a blessing that the Son came into the world, “in order that the world might be saved” – a blessing.

A priest is visiting his atheist barber for a trim and shave. The barber engages the priest in conversation and asks, “If there is a loving God, how can God allow poverty, war, and suffering?” At that moment, looking out the window of the barber shop, both saw a disheveled man with wily hair lumber past. The priest said to the barber, “You are a barber and claim to be a good one.  How can you allow that man to go about unkept and unshaved?” The barber snorted, “That man never gave me a chance.” To which the priest replied, “Exactly, people are what they are because they never give God a chance.”

This can not be said of Abram or Nicodemus. 
God comes to Abram – as unknown, unannounced, and as yet, unintroduced. Abram had not previously heard of this God, who has asked him to go on a journey that will take him and his household away from his kinsfolk, his inheritance, the land and the traditional gods of Mesopotamia, the bustling trade of Haran, the riches of this place, the availability of water and food, and the culture he has lived and known for 75 years. Abram is asked to go on a journey and sacrifice everything he has ever known. God invited Abram and Abram says, “yes.”
God came through Jesus, speaking in the streets, performing signs, and confronting the religious leaders – God came unannounced and in an unexpected way.  Nicodemus, watching for the signs that would usher in a Messiah, was unclear as to whether Jesus was the fulfilment of the prophets words that he had been taught all his life. Nicodemus, in his conversation with Jesus, is invited into a spiritual journey wherein what he has believed is being interpreted in a broader way. To entertain such thoughts Nicodemus takes a risk – potentially sacrificing everything he has ever known and believed, along with the possible loss of his job, status, friends, and family. God invited Nicodemus on a journey, Nicodemus says, “yes.” The confirmation of the ‘yes’ comes later in the Gospel story when Nicodemus stands up for Jesus in the Sanhedrin reminding colleagues that the law required that persons to be blamed with heresy are to be heard before a judge; and at the time of Jesus death Nicodemus provides the customary embalming spices and assists Joseph of Arimathea in preparing Jesus’ body for burial.

God comes – unknown, unannounced, unintroduced, unexpected – looking around our troubled world this coming goes unobserved and perhaps unwanted; at the same time, according to biblical stories we hear through the season of Lent, God comes and people respond, ‘yes.’
The crux of the text that confronts me this morning is the seemingly simple way to bring blessing into the world. It is a phrase we hear over and over again, during Lent, “Return to the Lord your God.” In the texts of today turning to God, Nicodemus and the Psalmist do this by asking questions; Abram does it by going on a journey. The journey moves forward with a statement or action of faith --- and then because the participants dare to go on the journey, sacrificing everything they have ever known – blessing is imparted. 

Psalm 121, a Psalm that Nicodemus would have known, would have sung, speaks to me in the simplest form. When asking the question, “from where will my help come?” I think not of journey or sacrifice, it is a cry from the depths of my being --- that bursts into hope and visions of a brighter future by the poetically articulated blessing. At a graveside, when I hear the Word proclaimed, I am so exhausted that the Words sink deep within and they settle.  I believe them by osmosis, by intuiting their truth. And in speaking them aloud, the blessings live into the lives of others who hear them.  

Professor of Old Testament, Rolf Jacobson, at Luther Seminary in St. Paul Minnesota writes that the “genre of blessing is under utilized in our world today.” He states, “I believe that every child of God should give and receive a blessing every day.” We could do that, we could impart spoken blessings to people around us as we walk through our days.  We could also practice the spiritual discipline shown through scripture texts – turn or seek the Lord and proclaim a statement of faith (even if you might doubt the statement at the time of speaking it).  In a troubled world, is our turning to God, the healing balm that becomes a blessing on the whole world?  I would like to believe that it is.

By coming here this morning, you turn and seek the Lord, you make a confession of faith; a blessing will be received in the world, a hundredfold, as you go into the world with healing, warmth of spirit, and bolstered hope.

The God of Peace, who brought again from the dead our Lord Jesus, the great shepherd of the sheep, by the blood of the eternal covenant, make you complete in everything good so that you may do God’s will, working in you that which is well-pleasing in God’s sight; through Jesus Christ , to whom be the glory forever and ever. Amen.           
-pg 251, Evangelical Lutheran Worship Pastoral Care, Augsburg Fortress

Forget Fasting; Indulge in Kindness -Lent 1A

Holistic health practitioner, Matt Marchant, has compiled on his business page a group of short parables on love and relationship. After hearing read the story of Eve and Adam from Genesis, I couldn’t resist sharing this modern day parable with you.
 “Mulla Nasrudin was talking with a friend about his love life. “I thought I had found the perfect woman,” Mulla said. “She was beautiful and had the most pleasing features a man could imagine. She was exceptional in every way, except she had no knowledge.”
     “So I traveled farther and met a woman who was both beautiful and intelligent. But, alas, we couldn’t communicate.” “After further travels, I met a lady who had everything: perfect mind, perfect intelligence, and great beauty, all the features I was looking for, but...”
     “What happened?” asked the friend. “Why didn’t you marry her at once?”
     “Ah well,” said Mulla, “as luck would have it, she was looking for the perfect man.””

Genesis chapter 3 is the passage in the Bible that has been used as the basis for the doctrine of original sin. It has been deliberated on through the centuries about whose fault sin was/is, how it happened, what it all means. In the end, Eve, Adam, and serpent are not found to be perfect. The Oxford Annotated NRSV Bible comments: “Though this story is often taken by Christians as an account of ‘original sin,’ the word ‘sin’ never occurs in it.  Instead, it describes how the maturing of humans into civilized life involved damage of connections established [in the creation story] between the Lord God, man, woman, and earth.”

Through Lent we will be asked to enter wonderful and daunting stories from Hebrew scripture. The stories confront themes that so often humans ignore and prefer not to contemplate. We will be asked to contemplate right and wrong, blessings and cursings, life and death. The texts will have us pondering our humanity and what that means for the relationships involved in being human.
In past interpretation today’s story, so often dissolves into argument about sin, missing further learnings to be gathered from the richness of the text.

Much to my pleasure I read a line of commentary that allowed me to ponder the text in a new way. The commentary summed up the story saying: Human beings were formed with great care, to be in relationship with the creator, creation, and one another. The serpent’s promise to the first couple that their eyes would be opened led, ironically, to the discovery only that they were naked. (– Sundays and Seasons 2020, Augsburg.)
Think about that for a moment – Eve and Adam eat fruit from the tree of knowledge- and they only realize that they are naked; that is all. What I find interesting is what happens next, and perhaps this is the first  ‘sin’ as this seems so human to me – Eve and Adam choose to judge the nakedness; and it is judged as bad because they go about sewing themselves coverings to hide being naked. What I also find interesting is and perhaps in competition beside judging to be the first ‘sin,’ that the new knowledge is all about them, all about me; it is applied directly to the self; the information is used in a self-serving way and separates the body, the person, from the intimate experiences they have had of the world around them. This applied knowledge has introduced a visible boundary in relationships; there is a layer of protection between woman and man, between humans and creation, between Creator and creature.
Judging and separation are not the only ‘sins’ in competition for the first sin. Perhaps the story has a variant ending – what if the first couple, eating forbidden fruit, had risked opening their eyes further – was there a possibility of discovering, of knowing, of intuiting, of grasping the ultimate importance and godliness of recognizing the need of the other; of daring to encounter and experience intimate relationships with partners, creation, Creator?  Could the first couple have chosen to not get stuck in the tidbit of being naked, and rather embrace the larger consciousness?  Could they not have been inundated with kindness – a will to be an expression of kindness?

This past week the message in the church sign on Windsor St. changed.  For the season of Lent, the sign’s dictate to the neighbourhood is: forget fasting, indulge in kindness.

This phrase came about one night when I was dreaming about what to put in the sign. I was pondering Lent and Lenten practice, considering what I would find beneficial as a direction for the season.  I figured whatever words I needed to hear, might also be the words someone else needed.  Lent is a season that reflects on sin and temptation – starting this past Wednesday at Ash Wednesday service – we heard that we are dust and to dust we shall return.  We were reminded that we sin – questioning this - take a few moments after worship and read through the confession on page 253 in the front of the hymn book. We have all sinned. The call that comes to sinners in Lent is to turn from sin and return to the Lord our God; to see and hear that Lord is good and God’s steadfast love endures, that God is gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love. It is from this pondering that the sign’s phrase made sense to me: forget fasting, indulge in kindness.

I, like Eve and Adam, don’t do so well when asked not to do something. When I think of fasting I think about everything that I am not allowed to eat or drink or do. My mind and my heart become occupied in being perfect in keeping the rule that has been set, and I loss the point of the fast in the first place – to draw closer in relationship with creation the giver of food, to grow in my relationship with farmer the provider of food, to grow in relationship with siblings who have no food – who need my food; to spend more time in prayer and reflection (rather than eating) to increase my relationship with God.
So the dictate to the community – forget fasting, indulge in kindness – is not suggesting one refrain from doing wrong, or try to be perfect, rather, the incentive is for one to concentrate and focus on actively working to be kind.  Shifting the focus from a negation point of view to a view focused on a positive virtue, completely changes my attitude and thus my human willingness to participate. Perhaps it is my years spent in Christian community, I see the practice of indulging in kindness as the counterpoint to original sin; the fullness of kindness lacks the sin of judgement, the sin of separation, the sin of not risking enough by stopping at our own threshold and not being open to the beyond.

For the next 40 days, I invite you to join with me and indulge in kindness.  In literature from Alcoholics Anonymous, kindness is named as essential for working through the 12 steps of the program. AA material states that to be kind is to be in service of those in need. One can do a kind act for self-serving purposes, but, this is not kindness and is of no help to the person doing the act. If I used one word to describe the 12 steps of anonymous programs I would say the theme is relationship. Kindness is a virtue of the heart, and when applied one sees need; need is found everywhere especially in our relationships.

For the next 40 days, I invite you to join with me and indulge in kindness. Catholicstrength.com says, Kindness is a virtue which “lifts the spirits” and “touches the hearts” of the people we encounter in our lives. When kindness is amplified by grace theologians call it an infused or supernatural virtue gifted to us in baptism, and when that virtue of kindness becomes part of our very nature – perfecting us in grace – it is a manifestation of the fruit of the Holy Spirit. 

We have been perfected  in grace through the waters of baptism. As we have drowned sin, washed, and risen with Christ, God’s grace continues to flow through us. God works through our very lives, when we chose to stop living first sins. That is to fast from judging and to stop looking at ourselves, our nakedness, our lack of whatever, and rather,  risk opening ourselves to the world around us, to drop barriers that separate us from the  intimate experiences and relationships we were called to in the very beginning in the connections established in the creation story between the Lord, man, woman, and earth.

For the next 40 days, I invite you to join with me and indulge in kindness.
Creator, when tempted to eat forbidden fruit, turn us from sin, infuse us with courage to practice the risky business of opening our hearts to the world around us. Give us the grace to indulge in kindness. Let an abundance of compassion overflow and overwhelm our neighbourhoods. Flood the world with lavish love. May this season of Lent gush with a grace that lift spirits and touch hearts.  Amen.